Restoration
by Sagacious Rage
Summary: Sequel to "Prodigal". Maebh Mac Tir navigates her newfound responsibilities, newly reunited family, and the fallout from her actions during the Blight.
1. Table Manners

Denerim 9:32

One Year Anniversary of the End of the Fifth Blight

On another day, in another lifetime, Maebh would have found the silence soothing. The soft glow of the candlelight, the warmth of the fire, the lovely smells wafting from soup tureen and chafing dish, the fine wine making her head swim. She felt an odd pressure on her ankle, and realized it was Alistair's foot. She started and jerked back, pulling away.

There was a thunking sound under the table and Alistair grunted. Maebh looked up from her overloaded plate and caught Anora's cool gaze. Her stomach curdled and she bowed her head.

"So, tell me, Warden, what did you find in Ostagar? Is it able to be reclaimed?" Anora raised a dainty spoonful of soup.

Maebh shrugged and stared at her plate. She pushed a hunk of rapidly-cooling potato into a puddle of half-congealed gravy.

"Actually, my dear," Alistair cleared his throat. "I was considering granting Ostagar and the hinterlands to the, uh, the Dales."

Maebh looked up to see the hard line set in Anora's mouth as she glanced at Alistair. "Really. Whatever for?"

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Well, they helped us and all..."

The silence was solid, like a thick pane of glass. Maebh wanted to smash it.

"I see." Anora sipped some mead. "So is your plan to hand off chunks of our land to all those who assisted us?"

Alistair frowned as he chewed on a bit of beef. Maebh took a gulp of wine, then another, then refilled her goblet. Loghain helped himself to more bread.

"Which holdings do the dwarves desire?" Anora continued, her irritation visibly rising.

Alistair sighed. "The dwarves have exclusive dominion underground. They have no interest 'Topside', you know that."

"Well, who else assisted us?" Anora continued, her anger as cold and inexorable as an iceberg. "Is Arl Eamon now feeling crowded in Redcliffe?

"Eamon," the name turned to ashes in Maebh's mouth. "He can barely provide for what he has. Even he is not so foolish to try to grasp for more."

Alistair looked at Maebh, brow furrowed, eyes questioning. Maebh refused to answer his gaze, refused to explain her sudden disdain for the Arl.

Anora tapped her fingers on the table. "And the mages? Do the mages plan to expand the Tower grounds?"

Maebh slammed her goblet down, splashing wine on the lacy tablecloth. "Dammit, Anora. They were _there_. They were at the very top of Fort Drakon with us!" She looked to Loghain for help, but he only concentrated more intently on the meal and ate in stone-faced silence.

Anora turned her icy glare on her sister. Maebh steeled herself. "Yes, Warden. It appears that you have already decided what reward is to be given." Anora's tone was cool, even, deadly calm. "It is perhaps rude of me to expect my _husband_ to discuss such decisions with me."

Maebh picked at a turkey leg with her fingers, shrinking under Anora's wrath. "They earned it. They are willing to work to reclaim the land from the Blight. They only ask for what is rightfully theirs."

Anora sneered. "And you would know, as you have proven once and again how well you are at determining _who_ deserves _what_."

Alistair held up a hand to Anora. "My dear, please..."

"Do _not_ patronize me, Alistair. Do you _really_ think me such a fool? Do you _really_ think I am so blind as to not see what is going on in my own home?" Anora's voice raised, a faint blush of anger appeared on her face and a shine of tears in her eyes. She was furious.

"Yes," said Maebh, covering her shame with anger. "You know what? Yes! I _am_ good at determining who has who has earned what!" She pointed at Anora. "I let you keep your ass on the throne, didn't I? I spared Father's life. I planted a crown on Alistair's head and then saved the lot of you from a Maker forsaken _Archdemon_ so don't you_ dare_ lecture me on knowing my place, Nora. You _owe_ me!"

"Yes, about that!" shouted Anora.

"What about that?!" spat Maebh.

"Ladies, please..." Alistair tried.

"How did you survive?" Anora demanded in a ringing tone. "I have received correspondence from the Anderfels asking if it is true that you yourself took the final blow. They seem to be under the impression that you should have perished."

Maebh stared Anora dead in the eye, afraid to risk a glance at Loghain. "I'm sorry to disappoint you," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

"You must have used some manner of forbidden magic to save your own miserable life. Some kind of blood magic, perhaps? Or perhaps something taught to you by that demon-eyed apostate you found under some rock?" snarled Anora.

Maebh jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair behind her. "I refuse sit here and be accused of such crimes. I am no blood mage! You can ask your honored _husband_." Maebh turned to Alistair for support, but he just looked down. "Or our own _father_." Loghain still refused to meet her eye. This just fueled her anger. "They have both fought at my side and _know my worth_. Even if they are too... too _cowardly_ to admit it to you. You should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting..." she chocked on her fury, turned, and went for the door.

"You betray the truth with your own actions!" Anora trilled triumphantly. "No innocent would protest so much. _Maleficar_!"

"What would your subjects think of their honored queen!" Maebh raged as she flipped the wine table, Alistair flinched as bottles and glasses went flying before crashing to the floor. Anora did not even blink. Loghain took a bite of an apple. Blood red wine ran and pooled across the floor and stained the carpet. "Making such _baseless_ accusations!"

"The other Grey Wardens do not seem to find such accusations baseless. Why else would they be asking me?"

Maebh paused, gripping the door with a white-knuckled grip. "A year ago you were begging for my assistance," she growled. "A year ago you were trapped in a guest room at the mercy of Arl Howe. A year ago you faced certain death, or worse…" Maebh's gorge rose at the memory the Broodmother and she swallowed before continuing, "…at the hands of the darkspawn. It is good to see how far back the royal memory reaches!" she hissed.

"I hope you realize your selfishness has doomed us all," Anora said, icy composure regained.

Maebh slammed the door behind her as she stormed out.


	2. The Heart Wants to Feel

Denerim 9:31

Two months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Morrigan had been the first to leave. She disappeared immediately after the battle, without a word, without a trace. Maebh now understood the tears that stood in the apostate eyes as she called her "friend" that night in Redcliffe. Maebh never made friends with women easily. She felt Morrigan's absence keenly. But she never spoke of it, especially not with Loghain.

Most of the rest left while she recuperated. This was not unexpected. An awkward visit, a note sent by a servant. It was easy to live together in camaraderie and joviality when faced with a common purpose, invoking gallows humor to shake the constant threat of doom from their backs. But once it was determined that she was to live, they began to drift away. Leliana on a pilgrimage to defend the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Zevran and Oghren on pilgrimages of more earthly pursuits, and Sten on the long lonely sea voyage back to his homeland. Each promised to write, but Maebh did not take such assurances seriously. She appreciated the attempt, and felt little bits of herself tear off as each left. She patched up the holes alone. And she never spoke of it, especially not with Loghain.

Wynne and Shale remained to see her through the coronation and wedding, for which Maebh was grateful. Shale's presence intimidated all but the hardiest well-wishers during the reception; and once Maebh could not bear any more, Wynne took her away with the excuse that she must rest. The mage and the golem left together two days later, seeking out the wisdom of ancient Tevinter. She longed to go with them but could not abandon her duty. She never spoke of it, especially not with Loghain.

And then it was the three who could not leave: Maebh, Loghain, and Sal.

* * *

Maebh paced from one end of the north hall to the other, feeling like a caged animal. After nearly two decades of being forced to stay inside, she hated being shut up behind thick walls for long. Anora had stashed her away in the remote north hall, and Maebh hated it. Away from the royal quarters, the Landsmeet chamber, the ballroom, anywhere else somebody could have accidentally stumbled across the queen's famous, inconvenient, half-wild sister. Those who went looking for her found her easily enough. Those like Alistair.

"There you are," he said, smiling as he approached her.

"Where else would I be?" she crossed her arms with a huff and turned to the window.

He stood behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and squeezed. "Anora said that you're planning on leaving?"

"Yes. First light."

"Maebh..."

"I have to, Alistair. I can't stay here. I have things to do."

"But it's the dead of winter! You're still weak! No, you can't go." He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her firmly.

She leaned her head back so that they were cheek-to-cheek and lifted a hand to his face. "Nora should have thought of this before stashing me away back here. You would never be so brazen if my quarters were in a more public place."

He snorted and buried her face between her shoulder and neck. "Like she cares about anything but appearances," he said, lips tickling the sensitive skin.

"Be that as it may, I still have to go," she said, frowning. "The Orlesians will be here soon. I can't have them in the capital. We're going to that Soldier's Peak that Dryden fellow was always yammering on about."

"And who, exactly, is 'we'?"

"Sal, Father, and myself."

"No Cauthrien?" he asked, with just a hint of mirth.

Maebh stiffened. "Don't even get me started about her. No, she is not coming. Besides, why should he get to take his... companion with him when I have to leave you here?"

"So you'll both be miserable together?"

"That would be the plan."

"Poor Sal."

Maebh shrugged. "At any rate, I have to concentrate on getting things ready. The last thing I need is to have the Orlesians arrive with the Keep in ruins. I won't let Father be humiliated like that; it's going to be hard enough as it is."

Alistair groaned into her hair. "Would you be terribly offended if I confess that I do not envy you in the slightest?"

"You say that like I'd be willing to trade places. Have fun with your trade summit with the Antivans next month."

He sighed. "Well, it's still a few hours until daylight..."

"Won't your honored wife wonder at your absence?" Maebh arched an eyebrow as Alistair's hands began to wander, caressing her hips and backside.

"I can deal with that tomorrow. Tonight? I want to be with you."

Maebh pushed aside the quiver of conscience and smiled. "I live to serve, my liege."

* * *

Maebh awoke with a start. The sun streaked into the room with blinding urgency. "Damn," she muttered as she started to wriggle out of bed.

Alistair mumbled something and tightened his arm around her waist. "No."

Maebh gritted her teeth. "I have to get ready, Alistair. And you shouldn't be here."

He pouted and pulled her closer. "Your King says you shouldn't go at all. Your King says you should stay here and do...Warden things."

"You don't count as a 'Warden thing' anymore. Not since you quit." She couldn't hide the edge of bitterness that crept into her tone. "Besides, we've been over this," she finally extracted herself from the bedclothes and Alistair's clutching arms and stumbled across the floor to the wardrobe to get dressed. "You can't possibly expect me to leave Father alone with the Orlesians."

Alistair sat up, yawned, and ran a hand through his hair. "Can you do me a favor? Can we try _not_ talking about your father for the rest of the day? That'd be great, thanks." Alistair was even less successful at hiding his bitterness than Maebh was.

"You mean for the rest of the hour before I leave with... before I leave."

He frowned. "When are you coming back?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Alistair. When it's convenient? When I have a reason? You have work to do here, too. For example, important things like, oh I don't know, conceiving an heir."

She felt a sick thrill of victory at the look on Alistair's face. She had scored. He pulled on his trousers and picked up his shirt. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, weary.

"Doing what? My job?"

He yanked his shirt over his head. "Just let me know when you get there and are situated. Maybe I can find an excuse to come see you." He traced a finger along her jaw.

She took his hand and pressed his palm to her lips. "I wish you could come," she whispered, not willing to meet his eye and reveal the depth of her weakness. "But, well," she took a deep breath, and turned away, picking up a brush. "That's not an option, is it?"

"Maebh..." he said, voice soft with longing.

"You should go," she said sharply, not turning around. "You've lingered too long already."

* * *

An hour later Maebh met Loghain in the main hall. Sal was seated at his feet, eyes sharp and tongue lolling into a smile. He knew they were going on another adventure. As Maebh approached, Sal trotted over to her and whined. "No, this is it," Maebh said quietly. "Don't go looking, either. You'll only be disappointed."

"What's that?" Loghain went to her and picked up her pack.

"Oh, nothing. He... he knows."

"They do," Loghain looked at the dog and smiled. "They always do. Shall we off?

Maebh fell into step behind him. "It's funny," she said, "leaving with such little fanfare, considering how we arrived."

"You expected more?" Loghain scoffed. "Be thankful. These sorts of send-offs are always awkward. And stand up straight, girl. Maker's Breath, you walk like a peasant."

She squared her shoulders. "You don't have to carry my pack, you know. I'm quite capable."

"Nonsense."

She considered pressing the issue, but decided it wasn't worth the headache. "The passage should be easy enough. Dryden says there are tunnels leading up to the Keep, so we won't have to contend with the snow."

There was a bit of commotion behind them, shouts and footsteps coming from the palace balconies. Maebh did not turn around. Loghain glanced back, then at her. She stared straight ahead as she walked away.

"Yes, that is a bit of luck."

"Dryden!" Maebh called to the trader, waving. The commotion at the palace died away as they pressed on.

* * *

It wasn't until much later, after they had left the palace grounds and even the city limits that Maebh looked back.

"Forget something, Warden?" Loghain asked.

She grimaced. "I didn't say goodbye to Nora. Blast it, she'll probably talk of nothing else the next time we see her."

Loghain regarded her for a long, silent moment. Maebh felt the awkward blush deepening on her cheeks. "I wouldn't be concerned about her finding fault in your _manners_, Maebh," he drawled.

Maebh looked back one more time. "It would probably be best that we not come back, ever," she muttered sullenly.

Loghain turned with a bitter laugh and started walking again. "You should know better than to make promises you cannot keep."


	3. Vanguard

It was unwise, Maebh realized now, to attempt to retake the Keep with such a small force. She slowly got to her feet and accepted a handkerchief from Loghain before turning on Levi. "Why didn't you warn us?" she demanded.

Dryden blanched at her sudden fury. "I'm sorry, Warden, I didn't know..."

She wiped her face. "I don't suppose you inherited any skill with a blade. No? Of course not." She shoved the handkerchief back at Loghain.

"That's quite alright," he said, refusing it. "You will most likely need it again anyway."

She crumpled it in her fist and jammed it in a pocket. "Do you think sending for reinforcements is worth it? No, it will take to long and now we have even _more_ work to do before the Orlesians arrive. Forget it."

Loghain nodded. "We should be able to handle whatever else is in store for us. Provided you manage to keep your wits about you, of course."

"Just keep them off my back, Warden. Let's go, I grow tired of talking," and she led the meager group into the Keep.

* * *

Maebh drank a small lyrium potion and gagged. She tossed a flame blast at the pile of wood she and Loghain had gathered and it burst into flames. Loghain wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Well, I suppose that would be easier than flint."

Maebh grunted in agreement, grabbed an undead corpse, and began to carry it to the fire.

"Here," Loghain reached to grab it from her.

"No," she shrugged him off. "There's plenty of corpses. We'll both have to work here, today, Father."

"Very well," he took another by the ankle and elbow and threw it over his shoulder. "You do realize this would have been much easier if you had allowed Cauth--"

"No," she interrupted. "Not now. Not ever. Not so long as I'm Warden Commander, anyway."

"Yes, ser."

She tossed the corpse on the fire. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the smell of these things," she groaned as she held the handkerchief to her face. "It's worse than darkspawn, I'm sure of it." She wiped the sweat from her upper lip. "I'm going to change out of these robes. And you're not going to like what I put on, but I don't want to hear it. I'm sweating like a pig and, besides, it's just the two of us, now that Dryden's left to fetch supplies."

Loghain shrugged and Maebh went to her pack, digging through papers and potions and hair ties and smallclothes and lemons and dagger sheaths the packet of letters until she finally reached the bottom and pulled out a wrinkled, flimsy robe. "This will do," she muttered to herself.

* * *

She grabbed another undead body and dragged it toward the fire. Loghain looked up, saw her scanty attire, and pressed his lips together into a thin, angry line. "Not a word!" she said, holding up her hand.

He muttered something to himself as he stoked the fire, which she chose to ignore. She dropped the corpse and shoved it into the coals. She paused a moment, crouched with her hands on her knees. The exertion of the day was beginning to weary her. Alistair was right, she was still weak. She pushed on her knees and forced herself to stand up. She looked up at the gathering gloom of dusk and wondered how much longer she could keep going in one day before she had to sleep.

Loghain cleared his throat behind her. She glared at him. "Maebh, your leg," he pointed.

"What about it," she crossed her arms and stuck her chin out, while subconsciously pulling her right leg back behind the left.

"Those scars on your leg. What caused them."

She turned and started walking toward another corpse. "I got shot up with barbed arrows, Father. I have a dangerous job." He was silent. She turned, irritated. "What is it."

He had gone pale, his brows furrowed. "Your back," he said, voice husky.

She frowned. "My back what."

"The scars. It looks like they... Maker forgive me, Maebh I had no idea." He clenched his fists, his eyes darkened with rage. "This is abominable. It cannot be born. They had _no right_!"

Her frustration grew. "What are you talking about. Who are 'they'?"

"The Templars! that self-righteous bastard, Greagoir!"

She turned away and started dragging another corpse by the ankles. "Take a deep breath and start from the beginning. I have no idea what you're talking about."

He grabbed her arm and turned her around. "Tell me who beat you! Tell me who gave you the lash, those scars!" he choked. He clutched her upper arms. "Tell me!"

She pulled out of his hands. "It wasn't at the Tower, Father. I got those scars in Fort Drakon."

He jerked back as if he had been burned. "Fort... Fort _Drakon_?"

"Yes, Father," her irritation grew. "You are surprised?"

He turned away.

Irritation flared into anger. "Honestly, what did you think Howe was doing with me in there? What did you think he was going to do to Anora, for that matter? Or how about when you sent that assassin after me? How can you possibly pretend like you didn't know?"

"No, I was very clear with Howe and the elf. You were to be taken alive."

"Yes, well, I'm not sure what got lost in the translation, but when Zevran stabbed me with a poisoned dagger, he did not seem to be making so subtle a distinction."

He clutched his head with his hands, struggling for breath. "Maker, forgive me. My own children..."

Maebh clenched her teeth. "Yes, well, at least we managed to _survive_," emboldened by his anguish, she carefully sharpened her words and went for the kill. "What would Good King Maric think, if he were to know what you had done."

He turned on her, advanced, she took a step back. "You have no idea what Maric would think, girl," he growled, "About anything."

"You killed Cailan!" she cried, shaking with rage.

"Cailan's foolishness killed himself and everybody else with him. You want I should have sacrificed my own men to his vanity?"

"He saved my life," she countered, conviction wavering. "And Alistair's."

Loghain scoffed. "So he kept his latest plaything and his rival out of the fray? I should be impressed?"

"I think he knew more than you give him credit for," she replied, recovering some of her anger. "I wasn't a 'plaything'. He _loved_ me. He protected me more than you ever did. He deserved _better_ than that."

He towered over her, seething with rage. "And how many thousands died with him? Did they deserve no better?"

"You could have _said_ something! You could have _done_ something!" she balled her fists. "He trusted you! We all trusted you! You were so quick to find fault in him, and now to find fault in Alistair, because they're not Maric. Maric's dead. And now Cailan is, too." She bent and took hold of the undead corpse's ankles again and started dragging it toward the fire, fighting angry tears. "If you were not so quick to condemn them maybe you would see that they are good men. Or were. Whatever. You underestimated me, too, and look where that got you!"" Her strength gave out and she fell. He came over and tried to take the corpse from her. "No!" She shoved him away and struggled to her feet before beginning to drag it again. "I can do it myself!"

He frowned, still angry, and threw up his hands. "Fine!" he spat, and turned on his heel and left.

Maebh bit her lip and yanked with all the shreds of strength she had left. Her limbs felt like wet noodles, her bones jelly. She sobbed freely now, in anger and frustration. She sat on the ground, grasped the rotting, slimy corpse in her hands and scooted towards the fire on her bottom. She paused and wiped the sweat and tears and grime from her face with the dirty handkerchief and tried to catch her breath. Something warm and wet slopped against her hand. Sal stood in front of her, looking concerned. She turned and looked. She was only a few feet from the fire. "No," she said to the worried hound. "I think I can get it the rest of the way." She crawled to the other side of the corpse, gathered all the strength and will she had left and pushed. Slowly it rolled over once, twice, three times and into the fire. And then, heedless of the mud and the muck and the gore and the stench, Maebh curled up with Sal and slept like the dead.

* * *

A curious sensation, like levitation. And then she was set down on something hard. She tried to will herself awake and managed to catch a glimpse of a fire and Loghain's silhouette. There was a pressure on her forehead, then she heard him murmur something, and felt him tuck a blanket around her. She shifted, tried to ask what him to repeat what he said, but was unable to muster the strength and slipped back into oblivion.

* * *

Maebh was awoken by a strange sound. No longer sleeping in the mud and the cinders by the fire, she was on a hard surface, and there was that sound. Like rocks clacking together, but hollow. She spread her hands out on the flat surface and felt splinters and breathed in dust. The sound was getting louder, a rhythm like a running mabari but different, somehow. The infernal clattering sound. She blinked against the weak sunlight and sat up. "Where am I?" she wondered, not sure if anybody was there to answer her question.

"Shh!"

She turned to see Loghain, back pressed against the wall, leaning to look out a window, sword in hand. Sal stood at attention at his feet. "Get down," he hissed, "under the table."

Still unsure of what was happening, Maebh threw off the blanket and did as she was told. The dust was even worse under the table. "Are we in the kitchen?" she asked, groggy.

"Shh!"

A voice was shouting outside. A strange sound to the words, it reminded her of Leliana. But no, a man. Maebh shook her head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to cloud her every thought. "What is that sound?"

"A horse," Loghain relaxed slightly. "But just the one, it seems."

"A horse?" Maebh jerked up in surprise, banging her head off the bottom of the table. "Ouch."

"Yes, a horse. You can come out now."

She crawled out. "But who... a horse, really?" Her excitement grew. "I don't... Father, I've never seen a horse in person!"

"Maebh, listen to me, it might be a trap..."

She was already running out the door, Sal at bounding her heels. "Hello?" she called down to the courtyard.

"'Allo?" the voice responded.

Maebh rounded the corner and saw in the courtyard an actual, living, breathing, sure-as-she-was-born, honest-to-Andraste horse. And a man riding it. She shivered and realized with a shock that she was still wearing the scanty robes from the day before, covered in mud and cinders, her hair wild and her face coated with muck. She frantically wiped at her face with the now-filthy handkerchief, ran her fingers through her hair and stood up straight. "Yes, uh, can I help you?"

The man turned the horse around, and Maebh felt a pang of intense desire. She wanted to know how to do that. She wanted to know how to control an animal so large and so willful with only a click of the tongue and a subtle shift of the weight between hip and knee. She found herself staring at the part of his leg between knee and hip. "Ah! Warden-Commander Amell, I presume?"

She jerked her eyes up to see his widening smile. He swung one of those long legs over the side of the horse and dismounted. He began to walk toward her. Maebh stepped back, feeling oddly unsure of herself. "Yes, uh, that is me. Or it could be, I guess."

The smile wavered, his stride slowed. "I am afraid I do not understand."

She twisted a lock of hair in her fingers. "Yes, I am the Warden-Commander," she said, attempting a more certain tone.

"_Très bon_!" He grinned, and Maebh could not help but notice his very pleasant features. His hair was black, and flowed in loose waves about his forehead and neck. His eyes were deep-set, dark and friendly, and there were charming crinkles forming around them as his smile grew. His skin was dark like fine honey, like he spent every waking moment outside. He was wearing leather armor, but instead of the plated skirt that most Fereldens wore, he had a pair of leather trousers. He had finally reached her, and bowed in the traditional Grey Warden salute. She recovered quickly and returned the gesture.

"And you are?"

"Ah! I am Renaud. I have been sent by the Wardens in Val Royeaux to help assist you in any way I can," he gesticulated widely, his excitement infectious.

Maebh smiled in spite of herself. "Well, that's a relief. We could use an extra pair of hands around here."

And the spell was broken at the sound of footsteps behind her. Oh Maker. Father. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What is your purpose here?"

His smile did not falter. "As I was just explaining to the Warden-Commander, my name is Renaud, and I am--"

"Orlesian."


	4. Ground Rules

Renaud blinked, his smile faltered for a moment but he quickly recovered with a laugh. "Why, yes, in fact I am. And you might be?"

Maebh took another step back as Loghain stepped forward. They exchanged glances. "Yes, Brother, allow me to introduce the, uh, other Grey Warden in Ferelden."

"A pleasure to meet you, Brother!" he said brightly and bowed.

Loghain's jaw was set. He did not return the gesture. "Where are the others?"

"The other Wardens you mean? They are still a few days away. We were traveling by caravan. I was so, how do you say, eager? To meet you both, I went ahead of the rest."

Maebh looked from the man's fine armor to his excellent weapons to his princely steed and wondered if he ever had to loot his gear off dead bodies. She shivered in the early morning chill. "You'll have to excuse the state of the place," she said sheepishly. "Nobody's lived here in a long time and we only just arrived yesterday ourselves."

Loghain grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her towards the Keep. "Excuse us," he sneered over his shoulder.

Maebh glanced back at the Warden standing alone in the courtyard, baffled, and then back at Loghain. "What? What did I do wrong?"

He just shook his head. "We'll talk inside," he grumbled. He shoved her into the Keep and slammed the door behind them.

Maebh stumbled and caught her balance. "What is wrong with you," she demanded, irritable.

He gritted his teeth. "What is wrong with me? Did you hear that... that..."

"That _comrade_?"

"You bite your tongue, girl." He went to the hearth. "First, do not apologize to them. If they have complaints about the accommodations they should have thought about that before raping our land for a hundred years."

"A hundred years?" Maebh glanced out the window and snorted a laugh. "He's aged well."

Loghain ignored the bait. "There are going to be more coming within a few days. We need to make some decisions."

Maebh went to her pack, pulled out a hairbrush, and began to attack her tresses with determination. "Decisions like what? Are we going to make them camp out in the courtyard or shall we allow them to sleep inside?"

Loghain set a bowl of porridge in front of her and put the kettle on the fire. "Eat. You need your wits about you." He began to pace. "What about Avernus?"

Maebh set down her hairbrush and picked up a spoon. "What about him," she asked, her mouth full of porridge. "Ouch!" She covered her mouth with her hand and blew steam out. "That's hot. Anyway, why do we need to say anything? He's just an old mage in the tower."

"As far as they are aware, we are the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden." He rubbed his chin. "And Avernus isn't exactly the most rational individual."

Maebh blew on her spoonful of porridge in an effort to cool it further before eating more. "Well, maybe I could just forbid them from going in that tower. I could tell them it's collapsing or something." She swallowed. "I mean, they have to listen to me, don't they? I am the commander, after all."

Loghain turned and looked at her with one of _those _looks. And Maebh was suddenly, intensely aware of her tangled hair, filthy face, wrinkled robes, the porridge on her chin and the fact that she was swinging her legs as she ate, limbs too short to reach the ground while sitting on the bench. She looked down. "I'll get cleaned up and change before I go talk to him."

* * *

Freshly scrubbed, brushed, and in clean robes, Maebh carefully made her way back down to the courtyard, carrying a plate of bread and cheese and a steaming mug of tea.

"I'm sorry about that. You just... took us off-guard, I guess. We aren't accustomed to visitors. But, no hard feelings. Are you hungry?"

He accepted the mug and Maebh set the plate on a stone railing. "You are too kind. My thanks." He sipped the tea and nodded appreciatively. "As I said, I am here to help. Now, what shall you have me do?"

"Well, uh," Maebh was sure she could feel Loghain watching from the kitchen window, his angry gaze burning her scalp. "Have you... I mean... does your horse need anything?"

He turned and whistled. The animal came trotting over to him. Maebh fought the tidal wave of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm her. The horse was magnificent. Earlier, she had thought it's coat was black but in the morning sunlight, she realized it was actually a deep, glossy charcoal. It pranced spiritedly, hooves dainty, eyes bright, black mane and tail tossing in the breeze. Renaud murmured to the creature in Orlesian and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of oats. He turned back to Maebh. "Would you like to…" Eyes twinkling, he quirked his head to the horse.

She took a cautious step forward, keenly aware of the size and power of the alien thing. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, I don't really know how."

He waved his hand dismissively and set the mug next to the plate. "Bah, no troubles. It is easy!" He took one of her hands in his empty one and poured the oats into her palm. "Now, you must be cautious. If you curl your fingers, she may, how do you say, chomp?"

Maebh's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I can't..."

"Nonsense!" He smiled again and winked. Maebh was briefly distracted from her terror. "Here, like this," and he smoothed her fingers with one hand while gently taking hold of her wrist with the other. "Now, just keep them like so, and Citrouille will be very pleased with you."

"Cit-- Oh is that his name?"

He laughed. "Her name, but _oui_. Oh, I beg your pardon, _yes_."

She blushed slightly. "You don't have to apologize to me," she lifted her hand to the horse's lips. The animal nickered as it delicately lipped the oats from her palm. "Oh!" Maebh gasped at the sensation. "It feels like … like velvet!"

He nodded, smiling, and stroked Citrouille's neck. "She has a very delicate mouth, you know? A good girl."

"Um, if you say so, I guess." Maebh cleared her throat. "So... about him," she glanced back up at the Keep, and pulled her hand out of Renaud's. "You do know who he is, right?'

His happy expression finally failed, and he sighed. "_Oui_. I had hoped to make a good impression. Perhaps I let my excitement get the better of me, no?"

Maebh's shoulders slumped. "I don't know if there's any way you could have avoided that. At least it was just you and not everybody at once. Maybe I can talk him down before the rest get here." She started to wipe her hand on her robes.

"Ah! Allow me," Renaud took out a handkerchief and wiped her hand.

"Yes, uh, thank you." Again, Maebh pulled away and glanced up at the Keep. She held her hands behind her back. "At any rate, what would be helpful is if you were to come inside after you have your... Citronelle quite situated. We have some undead corpses to dispose of, and also a lot of dusting to do."

"Citrouille," he corrected gently. "I do not mind, of course," he joked, placing a hand flat against his chest. "But her? She's very sensitive, you know. A high-spirited lady." His eyes twinkled again, good spirits returned.

"Of course," Maebh smiled weakly. "He's not a bad man, really, once you get to know him. But, well," she shrugged, "I'm afraid it's quite possible he just won't let you and yours get to know him. I'm hoping I can keep everybody cordial, at least." She turned to go. "If you have anything to say, or a question or anything, just come to me. It'll be easier that way. I hope."


	5. How I Learned to Ride

Amaranthine 9:32

Four months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Maebh took a deep breath and looked at her plate. "That's... that's fine, thank you," she said to the Dryden boy who was trying to pile more boiled cabbage on her already heaping portion. "Perhaps you should serve the others?" she gestured down the table at the dozen Orlesian Wardens. The boy nodded and moved to her right to serve Loghain. Maebh attempted to meet eyes with each and every one of the twenty-four staring at her. After the eighth pair of eyes, a large burly man with a huge red beard and a look like he could scarcely believe she could lift a butter knife let alone fell an archdemon, her resolve failed and she frowned at her food. The Drydens had quickly taken to their role as the staff of the Keep. Maebh suspected it was part penance for their ancestor's crimes, and part attempt to repay the Mac Tirs for their service to Ferelden. Maebh was just grateful that she was not being asked to serve as cook as well as Warden-Commander. The job had some perks, at least.

Maebh stabbed a hunk of boiled potato and lifted it to her mouth. Loghain cleared his throat and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He frowned and shook his head slightly. She put her fork down, embarrassment rising. She watched with mounting anxiety as the steam from her food slowed and then stopped. Finally, the Dryden boys had finished serving everybody. "Now," murmured Loghain as he unfurled his napkin and placed it on his lap.

She dug into her supper with a vengeance, even though it had, in fact, gone stone cold. It was simple fare, and better than Alistair had ever managed to concoct on the road. She smiled to herself thinking of the gallons of terrible stew she had slurped down, trying to satisfy the raging hunger in her gut. Loghain cleared his throat again and Maebh slowed her assault. She looked at him, and he nodded toward the others. Maebh turned and saw that they were talking quietly amongst themselves, picking at their suppers. "So," she said awkwardly, turning to Renaud. "Have your friends quite settled in? Or do they require anything? I could have one of the Drydens to assist you, procure whatever supplies you require."

"Hm," Renaud patted his lips with a napkin and Maebh quickly looked back to her food. "Well, I know that I, for one, have been completely satisfied but, Avice, what were you asking me earlier?"

The dark haired woman pursed her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, we were a bit confused about the stable situation."

Maebh tilted her head. "What situation is that?"

"They are empty, save the Drydens' oxen. Where have you housed your own horses?"

Maebh looked to Loghain who was smiling slightly. "You can tell them," he said to her, quietly.

She turned back to the other woman, and shook her head. "We don't have any."

The room went oppressively silent as the Orlesians stared at her, shocked. Maebh shifted her weight under their gaze, trying to find a comfortable position in the large chair at the head of the table. "But..." a voice said to her right. She looked at the woman, the only other mage, an impossibly beautiful young blonde named Ghislaine whose perfect brow was furrowed in disbelief. "What happened to the horses you had while battling the Blight?"

Loghain looked almost smug as Maebh answered with her own look of confusion. "What are you talking about? We didn't have any horses then, either." The stares intensified, and Maebh began to feel as if she were being somehow judged. "We didn't!" she protested with a frown.

"Oh, no, nobody thinks you are lying, Commander!" Renaud reached over and touched her arm in reassurance. "It is simply that it is hard for us to imagine. With every detail revealed your exploits become even more remarkable."

Loghain looked at Renaud's hand on Maebh's arm with an icy calm. "It would seem that underestimating Fereldans is still a problem in Orlais."

Renaud leaned back with an easy nonchalance and smiled ruefully. "_Oui_, one would think we'd know better by now, eh?"

Maebh concentrated on her food and shrugged. "I suppose I can understand your skepticism. There's a lot that we did that seems pretty unbelievable now." She fought the smile that threatened, still keenly aware of the hard blue-grey eyes to her right. "However even if there were horses to be had, they wouldn't be any use to me."

Now it was Renaud's turn to look confused. "You mean to say you do not know how to ride at all?"

She nodded, still not looking up. "I had never actually seen a horse in person before you arrived."

He clapped his hands together. "This is simply unacceptable, Commander. We shall remedy it as soon as weather permits."

Loghain snorted. "The thaw has only just begun, Warden. I'm afraid you will be waiting quite a while."

Maebh tried to hide her disappointment. "Well, it has to come eventually, right, Loghain?"

* * *

It was another month before the snows had melted and the earth in the practice field had firmed to Renaud's satisfaction. Maebh attempted to distract herself by concentrating on discussing with Levi how many recruits they could support on their allowance from the crown, and how to work toward becoming more self-supporting, plans with Loghain on how best to launch the campaign to battle the remaining nests of darkspawn, and corresponding with the representatives of her former allies to discuss possible recruitment candidates. But every evening after supper she found herself wandering down to the stables to watch as Daralis, the Dryden girl who had claimed the role of stablemaster, fed and watered the horses. It was with a mix of growing excitement and mounting apprehension that she watched as the mounds of snow receded and were replaced with the fresh green promise of spring. How could she ever hope to master a creature such as these?

She stood in the practice field, wearing the Tevinter robes that allowed more ease of movement while preserving her modesty, watching Renaud put Citrouille through her paces, feeling the same ambivalence. It seemed as if the horse had grown even larger since the day she met it, all wild energy and massive muscle. She couldn't take it all in with her eye at once and so focused on random bits, the lock of hair that fell over the animal's eyes, the pattern of the saddle blanket, Renaud's hands as they gripped the reins with a gentle firmness, the tuft of lighter grey hair that formed a diamond on the Citrouille's chest.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, moist spring air. A gentle breeze caressed her face, warm and damp. The ground was still soft and springy, the sun soft. She hadn't been able to appreciate spring last year. She tried to think where she had been at the time. Probably Orzammar.

Finally Renaud dismounted and approached her, leading Citrouille by the reins. "She's a bit calmer, now, it's as good a time as any."

Maebh clasped her hands together in front of her. "Are you quite certain? Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should wait for one of the other horses. Daralis says that the quarter horse has a sweet disposition."

Renaud nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. I agree, but I am more comfortable teaching you with Citrouille. She is spirited, yes, but we are, how do you say, accustomed to one another, no? I will be able to tell more easily if something is amiss."

Maebh blanched. "You think something will go amiss?"

"No, of course not, Commander," he attempted to reassure her. "But one must be prepared for any possibility. Now, I shall help you to mount and then adjust the stirrups to fit you, as I imagine your legs are most likely a bit shorter than mine."

She smiled weakly and approached Citrouille. "How do I 'mount', exactly?"

He patted her back. "It is quite simple. I shall hold my hands like so," he laced his fingers together and held them forward, palms out. "And you will step your right foot here, in my hands, and the left on the stirrup, and then swing your leg across. See? Easy."

She took a deep, slow breath and nodded. "Wait, can they tell if you're afraid? Like mabari?"

He frowned slightly. "Unfortunately, yes. I wanted to avoid telling you that. I thought maybe it would help if you didn't know."

Maebh felt a pang when she realized he was right. It would have helped. "Well, no helping it now," she said ruefully and stepped into his offered hand. She gripped the saddle and swung her leg over.

She had attempted to prepare herself for the sensation of actually being seated on its back, but nothing in her experience was even remotely close. It was so large and solid and _alive_. She could feel its heat, breathing between her legs, every shift and twitch of its muscles. She reached down to pat its neck as Renaud adjusted the stirrups. The horse took a step sideways and Maebh lurched to keep her balance. Renaud shushed and stroked Citrouille's neck and glanced at Maebh. "She does have a mind of her own, no?"

Maebh bit her lip, nodded, and took the reins in her hands. "Forgive me, Commander," Renaud carefully adjusted her grip. "Like so. This way, you are using your thumbs for control, which are stronger than your fingers."

"Oh, that makes sense," she said, appreciating that he was explaining why she must do things in a certain way instead of just telling her how.

"Now, if I may, Commander, you must put your feet in the stirrups heel-first. This way, if you were to fall, and Citrouille were to bolt, you will not be dragged."

She blanched again. "Yes, that would be bad."

"Oh, I would not be worried about that happening today. It is simply a good habit. Now, you must, how do you say, click your tongue? And press your ankles to her sides and she will walk forwards. And you must not worry, I will be right here."

"Yes, of course not, no worries." She clicked her tongue and squeezed her ankles into the horse's sides. She again was caught unprepared as the animal began to walk forward, back rolling back and forth with the movement. Maebh rolled her hips with Citrouille's gait. The movement reminded her of something, but with all her attention being focused on not falling off, she could not afford to try to think of what.

"Very good!" Renaud praised her. "You must do your best to match her movement, it will make both of you have an easier time."

The muscles in her pelvis started to ache as she struggled to keep moving in such an unusual way, and she felt the blush burning on her face as she realized exactly what the motion reminded her of. The horse slowly meandered across the field, Renaud murmuring to it in Orlesian, as Maebh did her best to remain focused on the task at hand and not remember other, more royal, forms between her thighs. She shook her head slightly and muttered, "Focus," to herself under her breath.

"Hm?" Renaud looked up at her.

Before she had a chance to respond, the horse disappeared. It was under her one moment, placid as a cow after milking, and the next was approximately six feet to the left. She hit the ground with a thud. She heard Renaud shouting and the horse running and she jumped to her feet and bolted for the fence. By the time Renaud calmed Citrouille down she had already jumped the fence and had started running for the Keep when she slammed into Loghain.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, looking down at her ashen, and trembling.

"I fell off. I was... scared," She admitted.

He turned her around and shoved. "Then you get back on."

"But, Father, it threw me! And I don't even know how it happened, much less how to stop it from happening again."

"I suppose I should not be surprised that the eager young man neglected to mention the first lesson of horsemanship: if you fall off your horse, get right back on again. Maric knew that by instinct alone, girl, and he was a terrible rider. Get back on."

Maebh slumped in defeat and clambered back over the fence. Renaud looked at her, eyes wide. "My sincerest apologies, Commander! Something must have spooked her. It happens sometimes. But I assure you it will not happen again!"

"Don't lie to the girl," Loghain shouted from behind the fence. "She needs to know the truth if she's going to learn."

Renaud furrowed his brow. "Well, then, I must admit that it is possible, however unlikely, that you will get thrown again. Such is the nature of horses. Now, shall we?"

Maebh never had less of a desire to do anything than she wanted to get back on that horse, but with Loghain watching she could hardly back down. She set her jaw and got back on.

This time, she was not as surprised by the feeling of being on the back of the creature. But she could tell it was different, excitable. The breath was faster, she could swear she could feel its pulse when she couldn't before. She realized her shoulders were hunched as she felt her father watching, and straightened her spine and raised her chin. She clicked her tongue and pressed her heels to Citrouille's sides again.

The horse started, but Maebh was not thrown again. She tightened her legs to its sides and her grip on the reins. The horse was cowed slightly, and snorted. Renaud looked concerned. "Perhaps we should switch to the quarter horse," he said, "It seems, I am afraid, that Citrouille does not like you very much."

"No. I will finish this," Maebh said firmly. "I'm not going to let this thing beat me. Now, lead us, if you don't mind."

Renaud nodded and led them in another wide circle of the practice field. Maebh felt Loghain's gaze the entire time, but refused to look at him. She could tell Citrouille was not happy about the situation, and kept her legs tight and close to the horse's sides. She would not admit weakness to the animal. She was the one in charge.

Her legs trembled with effort, her back ached from keeping ramrod straight, her pelvis muscles burned with being forced to move in such a way for so long, when they finally completed the one circuit. "There!" Renaud said with obvious relief. "This is enough for one day, no?"

"I think one more time, Warden," Loghain called from the fence. "She is still a bit tight."

She shot a baleful glare at her father, who was leaning against the fence, looking bemused. "Well, once more then," Renaud said carefully. "If that is what you want."

"Of course it's what I want," she gritted.

Renaud shrugged and began the torturous walk again. At the end of her wits, Maebh decided to cheat, and began to channel her will into physical strength. It was the same as when she had to wear heavy armor or wield a large weapon. The horse stopped dead in its tracks. She frowned and squeezed her ankles to its sides more forcefully. Renaud looked from Citrouille to Maebh. "You are using magic, no?"

She nodded.

He shook his head. "I am sorry, but Citrouille simply will not tolerate it. I should have thought of that earlier. Perhaps that is why she dislikes you so."

"Are you serious?" Maebh exclaimed in exasperation. "Even the horse hates mages?"

"Yes, I am sorry to say."

"The Chantry's reach is longer than I realized," she quipped bitterly as she allowed her will-influenced strength ebb.

"So you would like to stop?"

"Absolutely not. We will complete the circuit." And Maebh reached deep within herself and fueled her body with anger and pride.

By the time they finally finished the second circuit, she was utterly spent. She slid off the side of the horse and would have collapsed if Renaud hadn't caught her. "Careful, Commander," he said, "the ground here, it is not quite even. It is easy to lose your balance."

She leaned against him for a moment, not trusting her own strength. "Yes, of course. My thanks." She took a deep breath, catching a scent of leather and sweat and grass and some spicy cologne, and pulled away. "We must do this again, soon. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Renaud looked from Maebh to Loghain and back, thoughtful. "Yes, soon, but perhaps not tomorrow. I must speak with Daralis about the other horses. Maybe Ghislaine's will be more appropriate for you."

Maebh nodded, turned and walked back to the Keep on shaking legs.


	6. Am I Breathing Still

Amaranthine 9:32

Seven months after the end of the Fifth Blight

"So how long were you living up here, all alone?" Maebh asked Avernus as she carted in yet another bucket of soapy water. Her daily attempts to erase the older mage's crimes had little effect, but that didn't deter her efforts.

"Only a few months."

She knelt down and dipped a brush into the bucket. "I hardly think your test subjects count as company."

Avernus was silent as Maebh set to scrubbing the bloodstains. "I honestly cannot say. Over a hundred years, certainly. Probably more than one hundred fifty."

The _shush-shush_ of the brush in Maebh's hand slowed as she considered this. "When did you stop minding it?"

"Minding what?"

"Being alone." She redoubled her efforts.

Again Avernus was silent as he considered her question. "I don't remember ever minding. I had my research."

"And that was enough? You didn't miss having friends?"

"What I had was enough."

She dipped the brush back in the water and rubbed the spot dry with a rag. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I made use of the results then, isn't it."

"I stopped caring about considerations such as 'good' and 'bad' a long time ago. You did not waste resources. I suppose one could call that 'good' if one so desired."

The brush went _shush-shush_ against the stones. "Yes. Waste not, want not."

There was a knock on the door. Maebh leapt up and ran to the over, not wanting whoever dared disturb her in the Mage's Tower to learn of Avernus's existence. She opened the door to see a frazzled Levi Dryden, obviously at his wit's end.

"Warden," he said, eyes wide. "The King!"

"What about him, Levi." She crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"A letter, for you!" He waved a letter.

"Let me see it." She took the letter from him and read.

_Maebh,_

_  
Denerim is driving me mad. I'm coming to see you. I would have asked, but I know you would only tell me to stay away. Too bad for you that I can think of a dozen reasons why I can and should ignore whatever you might say about the matter. By the time you get this I will have already left. It should still take me over a week from the time you receive this to when I actually manage to get there, so fair warning. If you could be a dear and plan for a darkspawn raid or bandit attack or something, so I could prove to myself I haven't completely lost all my fighting skill since my coronation, I would appreciate it._

_Yours,_

_Alistair_

_P.S. If you could also arrange for some pressing (and incredibly dangerous to boot) mission for your father to be sent on, that would be lovely as well._

"Damn," she muttered. "Levi, I'll need your help. We have to get the Keep ready."

* * *

Maebh cleared her throat and stood up. "I have an announcement."

Thirteen pairs of eyes were turned to her, and thirteen pairs of ears listened expectantly. She swallowed. "I received communication from the King today. He will be visiting us soon, here at the Keep, in just over a week. I don't know for how long he intends to stay, but we must prepare accordingly. That's... that's all." She sat back down and gulped a mouthful of wine.

"Why, that is wonderful news!" gushed Ghislaine.

Loghain snorted. Maebh grimaced. "Yes, yes, it is quite an honor, I suppose." She mumbled.

"But," and Ghislaine tilted her head in the most charming fashion, "Wasn't your king your constant companion while you battled the Blight? I would have thought the two of you should have become at least friendly to one another under the circumstances."

Renaud fixed a look of significance on Ghislaine and shook his head slightly. She blushed, which only made her more appealing. "Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to intrude."

"No, it is quite alright. We were, or we are, rather … very good friends."

Loghain stabbed his meat with unnecessary force.

"I just don't know if the Keep is quite up to royal standards," Maebh continued, latching onto a change of topic.

"Commander, I would not be concerned. If you truly are such good friends, he will not mind that things are still, how do you say, rough around the edges. Did he not come from humble beginnings himself? I'm sure he will simply be pleased to see you," Renaud patted her hand.

"Yes, of course. How silly of me to think otherwise."

* * *

Maebh was pacing on the bridge between the main part of the Keep and the Mage's Tower when Renaud found her.

"Commander," he hailed her. "It is time for our ride."

"Oh, I can't. I have to watch for the King."

Renaud paused, considering his words carefully. "I am afraid Citrouille and Bonbon will not understand the importance of your guest. Horses are like that, you know? They must be exercised or..." he threw his hands up, "they will become quite unmanageable."

Maebh twisted her hands. "But what if he arrives while we are out? I can't make him wait."

"Why not?"

"Well... he's the King?"

"Commander, we are Grey Wardens. We answer to no king, only our own ranks. And in that regard, do you not outrank him?"

Maebh turned and looked toward the main gate. "I suppose I do at that. I... Yes, maybe it would be good to get out there for a while."

He took her arm, eyes twinkling. "Plus, once you have been out in the air a bit your cheeks take on the most delightful blush."

Maebh's eyes flew wide. "Renaud!"

"Simply making an observation, Commander," he replied with a rakish grin as they walked to the stables.

* * *

They returned two hours later, Maebh doubling over with laughter as she dismounted. "No, never again! I refuse to attempt a trot ever again!"

"Bah," Renaud scoffed. "You simply must practice more. Once you get the rhythm down it is quite enjoyable."

She held the back of her head. "You are a liar, Renaud. That was terrible! I am certain I just jarred my brain out the back of my skull. I will be keeping my eye on you, ser. So polite, all 'Commander' this and 'Commander' that. But now I know the truth."

"Commander, you wound me with your cruel, cruel words!" he protested with a laugh and a stabbing motion made with his fist into his chest.

She winced as she tried to straighten her posture. "I'm going to tell Loghain this is all your fault when he tries to scold me for slouching, just so you know." She took a deep breath, winced, giggled one last time, and then looked around. "Where's Daralis?"

They were both quiet as they looked around for the normally ever-present stable master. It was then that Maebh heard unfamiliar voices from the courtyard. "Oh Maker," she grumbled and darted out.

All the inhabitants of the Keep, the Drydens and all the Wardens save Maebh and Renaud, had already gathered to greet the King. Even splattered in the mud from the road, his golden armor gleamed in the sun so that it hurt Maebh's eyes. He was obviously enjoying himself, shaking hands with the Drydens and bowing in the Warden salute to the Orlesians. Maebh held back. Renaud caught up to her. "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not, not at all." She smoothed her robes and straightened her shoulders, all while trying to adopt the gliding stride of her sister as she walked down the hill toward the courtyard. The attempt turned into a miserable failure when Alistair looked up. He grinned and winked at her, and not two seconds later she tripped over a stone. Maebh would have fallen flat on her face if Renaud had not caught her elbow.

"It would seem that there are many areas where the ground is dangerously uneven, Commander," the Orlesian warden muttered to her.

"Thank you," she replied softly, pulling her arm out of his hand.

The crowd hushed as she approached, and Maebh realized with no great surprise that Loghain had not joined with the rest of them. She plastered a perfectly neutral smile on her face, stopped, and bowed in the Warden salute. For his part, Alistair kept a respectful distance and returned the chaste gesture. "Please, Your Majesty, allow me to welcome you to Soldier's Peak," Maebh greeted him with diplomatic calm. "Will you accompany me on a tour of the grounds?"

"Thank you, Commander, that would be lovely. From what I've seen so far, it is quite nice." His tone was equally neutral.

"Shall we, then?" She turned and gestured towards the Keep. Renaud stepped aside and allowed Alistair to walk next to the Warden Commander. Alistair's retinue of guards followed, an irritating tail tacked onto an already difficult task. "You think you're in danger of an ambush, Your Majesty?"

He grinned. "I believe I was quite clear in my letter, was I not? I admit, these kingly decrees have taken time for me to get used to."

She rolled her eyes, pretense weakening as the distance between them and the rest of the crowd grew. "Oh, please."

"Fine, fine." He turned to his guards. "It's quite alright. You're, um, dismissed for now. Perhaps it would be more effective if you remained out here, you know, making sure the grounds are secure, and stuff."

The captain of the guard nodded, and the two were allowed to walk alone into the Keep. Maebh shut the door behind her, and stood facing him in the main hall, heart pounding in her chest.

"'And stuff'? You sure weren't kidding about those kingly decrees." Maebh said, crossing her arms and glaring at the man she had handed Cailan's armor and throne.

"I'd like you see you do any better. Maker's Breath it's good to see you again…"

"I find myself caring less and less about naming things 'good' or 'bad'." She'd have to thank Avernus for that one. "So, tell me. What brought this on?"

He looked at her tenderly, took a step toward her, slowly took off his gauntlets, ran his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. "Do I need a reason?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Maebh started back when she heard a step on the staircase. They both turned to see Loghain standing on the landing with Sal, frowning. "I'm taking the dog out for some exercise," he declared in a clipped tone.

Maebh looked down and blushed furiously. Sal came bounding down the stairs well ahead of Loghain, who was taking his time descending. The dog spun in circles in front of Alistair, tongue lolling and backend wagging so hard he almost knocked himself over. Alistair crouched, rubbing the dog all over while bestowing copious "Who'sagoodboys! You'sagoodboys!" and other such ridiculous dog-talk. His Majesty was seemingly unfazed by the waves of disapproval rolling off of his father-in-law.

Loghain finally reached the door, fixed Maebh with a withering glare, and whistled to Sal. The dog immediately obeyed, heeling as Loghain strode out the door and slammed it behind him.

Maebh let out a long, slow breath and pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks. "Oh Maker."

Alistair pulled her hands away from her face and pressed them to his lips, smiling beneath her fingers and crinkling his eyes impishly. "I expect to hear that again before I leave."

"You are a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad man," she pouted. "Come, you wanted a tour? You're going to get one." She grabbed his hand and began to drag him to the next room. "In here, you will find the kitchen."

"Very nice."

"Yes, it is. And over here you will find the armory."

"Charming."

"Isn't it just? And up these stairs you will find, among other things, my office and a disturbingly large stockpile of raspberry jam."

"Now, that sounds interesting."

"Oh, does it? It's just an office. See? I have some bookshelves and a closet and, yes, a door that locks and a desk and a window that, yes, has drapes that shut."

"Well I meant the jam, but yes, I can see the… appeal of your office. Come here. I need help with my armor." He sat in her chair so she could reach the buckles. It was the only chair in the room, Maebh reminded herself when she felt a flicker of territorial petulance. She made quick work of the shoulder buckles, the armor more for show than actual protection. He pulled her into his lap and kissed her deeply. "Why are you trembling?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I just... I missed you. It's so lonely here. I can't talk to anybody, not like I could with you. I'm always worried about saying or doing the wrong thing and they all need me to lead them and I just don't know what I'm doing."

He held her tighter. "I understand. Are you still unsure as to why I came here?" He looked at her and pushed her hair away from her neck. "Forget them," he said and kissed her. "Just be with me, right now," his hand began to drift up her leg.

She placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him up so that she could look into his eyes. There were creases forming around them that were not there before. His face was fuller, the result of better food and sleeping in the same place every night. His hint of a beard was more carefully trimmed, and his hair had been made to be absolutely perfect. She looked into his eyes deeper, and the kingly edifice dropped away and she was presented with the same young man she had met nearly two years ago. A young man who was confused and scared and not sure whom he could trust and certain he was not up to the role he was being called upon to fulfill. The one person who understood, who had been there and seen the same terrible things and made the same terrible choices and told the same terrible lies.

Still, he had not seen everything she had seen. He had not told all the lies she had told. He didn't know that she was still lying to him, here and now. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him fiercely, hiding her most recent deception. He smiled against her lips and lifted her up on the desk, pushing away the papers and inkwells and maps and teacups that had accumulated. "You are making a mess!" she gasped. "Who's going to clean that up?"

He pushed her robes up, and began to pull down the short pants underneath. "Don't you have servants? That's what they're for you know. That's the trade-off. You don't get to wander off whenever you want, but you do get to make somebody else clean up when you throw some papers on the floor."

She wrapped her legs around his hips. "Something tells me I won't be asking one of the Dryden boys clean up this particular mess," she said with a wicked smile.

"You minx," he teased and unlaced his own trousers.

She reached down and traced a finger lightly along his length. "You don't need much convincing, do you?"

"You're surprised? After you came back from Maker-knows-where with that Orlesian all... glowy, like a glowing thing."

She leaned back and grinned. "You're jealous! Really?"

"Well, what do you expect? I haven't seen you in what... six months? A long time. And then he touches you..."

"He caught my arm so I didn't fall flat on my face."

"Yes, well. I suppose that can be excused."

She giggled. "You're ridiculous."

"And lucky for me, you have a weakness for ridiculous men."

"Guilty as charged," she sighed as he pulled her close and he slowly entered her. He placed a hand flat between her shoulder blades, supporting her weight as she arched away from him. "Oh Maker," she moaned as he filled her.

"I thought I'd hear that again."

She curled her fingers, digging her nails into his biceps. "Would you _stop_, already?"

He withdrew from her. "Really? You truly want me to stop?" He was almost bubbly.

"Maker's Breath," she cursed and tightened her legs around his waist. "Do you want me to go find Renaud? I'm sure I could convince him to do this properly."

"No, no," he said, voice gravelly as he glided into her again. "I don't want you anywhere near him, let alone speaking his_ name_." He kept one hand on her back as he wrapped the other around her waist and buried himself in her. She hooked her ankles together and pressed her heels into the small of his back, her want for him so intense she was nearly breathless.

It was not sweet or gentle, nor was it a harsh battle for dominance. It was raw need, a desperate desire to feel close to somebody, to feel supported and understood. They moved together, she was unwilling to let him withdraw enough to do anything else. She clung to him, tight, like she could make him stay if her knuckles were white enough, if her teeth clenched hard enough.

But it ended. It had to, eventually. She held him within her as he reached his inevitable conclusion, already feeling empty and alone. Slowly he removed himself, and she saw her haunted look mirrored in his eyes. "We should get dressed and ready for dinner. They'll get suspicious." She said dully.

He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Actually, now's as good a time as any to tell you the real reason why I came."

Her mouth quirked, but she decided against making the obvious joke. "So? Spill."

He looked down as he laced his trousers. "I got a letter from the Anderfels. They had... quite a bit to say but the part that concerns you is, well, they think you should be dead."

Maebh jumped to her feet and grabbed her short pants from the floor. "Oh, do they?" she asked in her practiced neutral tone, mind racing.

"Yes, and they had an explanation as to why you should have died. Maebh, I don't know what you did."

"I didn't do--" she protested.

"And I don't care, to be honest," he continued. "I already know what I'm going to do: I'm going to play dumb. That is my specialty, anyway. And in this case, it just also happens to be true. I wasn't there. I just thought you should know that they're asking questions. You need to be prepared for when they start asking you. Now, help me get this stuff back on." He sat on the chair and Maebh lifted the breastplate over his head.

"How long are you going to be staying?" she asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice.

"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

She paused. "So soon?"

He frowned. "I promised Anora I wouldn't, um, linger," he mumbled.

She lifted her chin. "Of course."


	7. Just a Guest, Not a Part

"Commander," Levi again was in a state as he confronted Maebh in the main hall.

"Yes, Levi," she responded, glancing in a mirror for a last-minute spot-check before dinner.

"I don't know where to seat anybody. Should you or the King be at the head of the table? Who should sit to the right of the head of the table? Who should sit to the left? How should I shift everybody around? Maker's Breath, I'm a merchant, not a steward!"

"If I may, Commander," Renaud stepped in. "Levi, the Commander should be at the head of the table. As the guest of honor, the King may sit at her right hand. In which case, Loghain would be shifted to the left, and everybody else will move down one spot accordingly." He turned to Maebh. "I will ensure that the others understand, there should be no unpleasantness."

Levi scurried off to inform the rest of the staff. Renaud stepped closer. "If I may be so bold, Commander," he said in a low tone, "the garment underneath your robes, the, how do you say, small pants?"

She whirled on him. "_Excuse me_?" she hissed.

He was taken aback by her offense. "I beg your pardon, perhaps I have chosen the wrong word?"

She took a deep breath, and placed a hand against her forehead. "Try again. Carefully."

Helpless, he gestured toward her legs. "But they are on inside-out. I wanted to tell you before," he stepped closer and his voice dropped to a whisper, "Loghain discovered..."

Maebh blinked. "Thank you. I..."

"Commander," he was standing so very close, but looking away. Maebh could feel the heat of his body. "Have you considered the broader complications of such an … involvement with the crown?"

She frowned. "You forget your place, Warden."

He turned to face her, and she willed herself to meet his eye and not back down. "Have I? I have been charged with helping you rebuild the Wardens in Ferelden in any way I can. And I can tell you, we have _no business_ being so close to the monarchy."

"_We_ are not close to _anybody_."

He did not respond, just returned her stare. She expected to see accusation, anger, condemnation in his gaze. A familiar dance, one she had been practicing since her days in the Tower. To her surprise, his eyes offered only sympathy. "If you insist, Commander," he conceded at long last, and left her alone in the hallway.

* * *

Maebh's wardrobe malfunction delayed her arrival to dinner. By the time she managed to get herself quite situated and reached the dining room, the rest had all been seated. Renaud and the other Orlesians stood as soon as she entered. Loghain and Alistair did not seem to notice. She stood behind her chair, feeling awkward as first Loghain, then Alistair glanced at her, then the others, and both rose. "Please, that's not necessary," she said finally, pulling her chair back.

Renaud, betraying just a hint of irritation, walked past Alistair to her. "Allow me, Commander," he said and pushed her chair in as she sat down.

"Thank you, Renaud," she said in her best casual tone as the rest returned to their seats.

"Such manners," complimented Alistair.

"What were you expecting?" Loghain asked, with an edge of confrontation.

Alistair chewed slowly. "I'm not surprised, I just wanted to say something nice. You understand, of course," he said, light and jovial.

Maebh looked down and tried to hide the smile quirking on her mouth.

"And how fares your queen?" bubbled a blushing Ghislaine. The young elf mage didn't seem to know what to do with herself in such proximity to the handsome monarch.

"Anora? She's uh... she's well."

Maebh looked up at him and was struck by the most curious memory. Sitting in Irving's office, scared out of her wits, facing down the King as he genially accused her of enthralling his son. She remembered the look on his face. He had worn a kind expression that seemed somehow artificial, as if he knew that expression was what people hoped to see, and so he wore it to hide his true thoughts. Alistair wore that same expression now.

"Commander," Avice said, concerned. "Are you quite alright? You've gone pale."

"Oh!" Maebh let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "It's nothing." She speared a forkful of asparagus and raised it to her mouth before setting it down again. "It's just that, Maker's Breath, Alistair you just looked so much like Good King Maric, I..." she shook her head and smiled. "Like I said, it was nothing."

Alistair looked at her, baffled. "Really?"

Maebh could feel her father's glare burning into her face. "Yes, in fact," she replied, arching an eyebrow. "Is that so surprising?"

"Well, no, I suppose not. It's just not something I hear very often. Or think about, to be honest."

"Oh," sighed Ghislaine in sympathy. "I can understand. Being sent to the Tower so young, I so rarely think about my parents. I'm afraid I do not even know if they still live. I'm sure you know how it is, Commander."

Maebh choked. "I, uh, yes. Marcel," she clumsily shifted topics. "You have really outdone yourself. Where did you find asparagus, anyway?"

The young dwarf grinned. "A magician never gives up his secrets, ser!"

"You make him cook? I thought the Drydens had taken over running the Keep," Alistair teased.

"Originally, they did, Your Majesty," Loghain managed to make the honorific sound like an insult. "However, Ferelden cuisine didn't quite live up to their expectations..."

"Which were already fairly low, if I may be so bold," Renaud deadpanned.

"Yes. At any rate, Marcel and Jacques have taken over cooking supper." Maebh finished Loghain's point. "The Drydens still take care of breakfast and lunch. And the dishes."

"Well, they should thank the Maker for small favors, then. Have either of you ever had to do kitchen duty? It's no fun I can assure you!"

"That's what the Dryden boys keep telling us, Your Majesty," answered Jacques with a laugh.

"Wait a moment," something dawned on Alistair, "does this mean none of you have ever had..."

"Oh Maker," groaned Maebh.

"Lamb and pea stew!"

Blank stares all around, save the groaning Maebh and the sullen Loghain. "I beg your pardon?" questioned Renaud.

"It is, simply, the best Ferelden has to offer in the culinary field I will stake my reputation on it!" declared Alistair emphatically.

"Such as it is," muttered Loghain.

"Look," Maebh held up her hands in surrender. "If I agree that it is on the menu tomorrow, will you _promise_ not to cook it yourself? Give the recipe to Jacques and Marcel and allow them to do it? Please?"

"Unacceptable! They won't do it properly! They'll insist on doing things like adding spices or taking it off the boil early, no, that won't do at all. We are having lamb and pea stew tomorrow and I am making it. This is final."

Maebh leaned her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "I don't suppose it's worth it to point out that technically, in this building, I outrank you?"

"You would deny me? Really?" he pouted, eyes twinkling.

"You know I wouldn't. You wretched man." She fought the ugly flare of frustration that was emerging. She could be a good hostess. It was only one dinner.

"Excellent!"

* * *

Maebh was awoken the next morning by frantic knocking on her chamber door. She got out of bed with a groan. "Coming! Hold on a moment, please." She wrapped a robe around herself and stumbled to the door, pushing her sleep-matted hair out of her eyes. "Yes, what is it?" she opened the door and was quite surprised to see not a frantic Levi, but a frantic Marcel on the other side.

"Commander, you must come quickly. The King has gone mad!"

She lifted a palm to her forehead. "He's put the stew on already, hasn't he?"

"But, Commander, it's split peas! It will be ready in a few hours and he claims it is for supper! And he did not trim the shank _at all_!" The dwarf blanched. "The grease!"

"No, no, this is how he does it just... bake some bread or something so at least we have that and perhaps we can make some sandwiches after he goes to bed. I think a lot of us are going to go hungry tonight."

By the time Maebh was dressed and washed and ready to face the day, Alistair was still puttering about the kitchen, humming tunelessly. She stood, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe and watched with a hint of a smile. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?"

He turned and his face lit up. "They said you were still a late riser. I made you tea!" The front of his fine tunic was splattered with all manner of detritus.

"Sweet Andraste! Look at you!" She accepted the mug with a frown. "You better not tell Anora about any of this. She'll have my head."

His smile turned impish as he touched her face. "Yes, she'll be very upset if she finds out you let me cook for you."

She pulled back, irritated. He was playing house in her kitchen. His smile faltered and she quickly covered her withdrawal by taking a long drink from her mug of tea. "I didn't get a chance to show you about the outside of the Keep. Would you like to go after I finish breakfast? We don't have too much land but it will make for a nice walk."

"That would be lovely."

* * *

After he changed into another fine tunic, and gave the other to Levi to be laundered, Alistair and Maebh continued their tour about the grounds. Maebh held her hands behind her back, attempting to maintain a respectful distance despite Alistair's attempts at an affectionate, if not intimate, proximity. "And here, we have the practice field," Maebh gestured toward the one large, flat clearing where the Wardens held their daily training exercises. "Yves!" she waved, and the older Warden came jogging over. "Your Majesty, this is Yves. He is in charge of training the Orlesian Wardens. Once we have some Fereldan recruits Loghain will take over their training. But, with the way things are now, basically, Yves is in charge of all training."

"Well met again, Warden," and he crossed his arms and bowed.

The silver-haired man returned the gesture. "Would you like to observe, Your Majesty? We were about to begin sparring."

Alistair grinned. "Sparring? Would you mind if I joined?"

"Are you sure that's a good id--" Maebh started.

"Of course it is," he interrupted her, walked through the gate, and grabbed a practice sword and shield from the pile by the post. "So, how do you usually pair up? Like versus like? Shall I take on, what's his name? The big one."

"Quennel?" Maebh sized up the huge redbearded man, shirtless, glistening with sweat and wielding a massive maul. "Um, no, maybe that's not a good idea." He would never hold back with the young monarch. A diplomatic disaster.

Alistair held his arms out wide. "Who, then? How about you," he gestured toward Renaud. "What, you fight dual weapons? I haven't practiced against one of you since Zevran left."

Renaud shifted his weight and met eyes with Yves before answering. "I concede, ser."

"Oh!" Ghislaine gasped and clapped her hands together. "Perhaps you could spar against him, Commander!"

His smile widened. "What a marvelous suggestion! Maebh," he pointed his sword at her and adopted an imperious tone. "I demand satisfaction!"

Maebh laughed. "Well if you make it a matter of honor, _Ser_ _Landry_." She accepted a practice sword and shield from Avice. "What are the ground rules?"

"Do your worst," he dropped into the Templar stance and Maebh followed suit.

"I don't know, Your Majesty, my worst is pretty bad." She began to channel her will into physical strength as they circled each other.

"Don't I know it. But we'll see how good this Orlesian teacher of yours is, because I seem to recall you having some significant blind spots."

It was too much. He had invaded her office, taken over her kitchen, flaunted their adultery in front of her father and now he wanted to insult her fighting skill? She lashed out and struck a blow to his side. "You don't know it. You left."

His smile faltered. "You know why." He swung out at her with his shield, catching a glancing blow on her chin.

"That doesn't mean I respect your decision." She danced out of the way of a swing of his sword, and jabbed sharply in the opening he left had left wide. He grunted as she made contact.

"It seems you managed well enough without me," he spat, swinging hard and striking a blow to her shoulder.

She backed up, rolled her shoulder to ease the throbbing, anger rising. "You had such faith in us, did you?" she darted in again, slashing at his knees.

He frowned, pulled back, settled into a defensive posture. "You knew I could not stand next to that man in battle and trust him with my life. Surely, he felt the same about me. It was better for everybody that I leave."

"That's easy to say after the fact, isn't it?" She bore down on him. "The truth is you had no idea what was going to happen to us and you didn't give a damn!"

"The truth is that we had a plan and you_ didn't stick to the plan_!" He pummeled her with his shield, knocking her down. "I should have just rolled over?" He charged her.

Maebh sprung to her feet and swept Alistair's legs out from under him in one smooth motion. "Yes!" she declared, holding her sword to his throat. "You made me the commander because you didn't want to make the hard decisions. You don't get to complain when I make decisions you don't like after abdicating what should have been your responsibility in the first place!" She panted, sweaty from the fight. "Do you yield?"

"Yes," he grumbled. "I yield. It seems Yves is quite the teacher after all."

"Well, Your Majesty, we actually have to fight for a living. These are hardly exercises in vanity." Maebh offered her hand and pulled him up.

He stood, holding her hand and looking into her eyes. Not the king, now, but her friend. "Have you ever thought, what if..."

She frowned. "What good would that do? What's done is done. I've made my choices and you made yours."

He still would not let go of her hand. "So we should just accept what is? Forget the past and move on?"

She shook her head. "I can't forget. And I can't claim that I have no regrets. And I can't change..." she looked away, "how I feel. But, yes, we have to accept what is or we will go mad." She shook her head sadly. "How much different could it have been, anyway? You could never have taken me as your queen."

"But if I had refused the throne..."

She looked at him sharply. "Don't say that. Don't _ever_ say that." She pulled out of his grip, suddenly conscious of their audience. "I think it's time for my ride. You can stay here and observe the rest of the training if you desire, Your Majesty. Who knows? You might even learn something."


	8. It's Not About Compromising

Maebh leaned against the window frame and stared out at the night sky. It was a full moon, the beveled glass distorting the calm glow and sending faintly rainbowed dapples onto her body and a small patch of the floor behind her. She liked the sitting room. It was well appointed, facing north so that it almost always was able to catch some kind of natural light. The royal couple had been more than generous with their monetary donation to the Wardens' cause, but Maebh found it hard to let go of her frugal habits. Candles were a luxury to be cherished, used only when her work demanded that she toil late into the night, not callously wasted on the lonely evenings she had trouble falling asleep. She took a sip of her brandy. The fire crackled. She tried to not calculate exactly how much they were spending on candles, on a night with a full moon and a roaring fire which both surely emitted enough light that anybody could see well enough to know who they were talking to and avoid stubbing their toes on the furniture, simply to impress the King. The King who would hardly notice.

"Anyway, Maebh," Alistair said, pulling her back into the conversation, "how are you finding your allowance? Anora says we should just continue with what Maric had budgeted but I wanted to see first-hand how that was working for you."

She turned back to face her lover, her father and the stranger who had wandered into this mess. "Well, we only have half the number of Wardens than we did at Ostagar," Maebh cleared her throat as the painful topic was broached. Loghain scowled and Alistair frowned. "However, the cost of keeping up the horses pretty much makes up the difference. If we are to expand? I'm not sure. I would like to begin recruiting Fereldans again once we have this place up and running."

"We should consider the possibility that we may have to move," Loghain pointed out. "There is Howe's old estate. What's the name of it? Virgil's Keep?"

"Vigil's Keep," she corrected gently, leaving her solitary station by the window and approaching the arrangement of armchairs.

"Yes, Vigil's Keep. I know you like it here, Maebh, but it's too remote. We should be more centrally located, more convenient to Denerim, someplace we can send word abroad to the other Wardens more quickly if the need arises. Amaranthine is perfect." He drank from his glass. "Not to mention the fact that if we could run it like a true arling we could become much more self-sufficient, and not rely on the whims of the nobility."

"Yes," Maebh mulled this over. "I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable claiming Howe's former holdings until all of his former allies are accounted for."

"Well, Loghain, you should be able to help with that, right?" Alistair's tone was entirely too casual.

The two stared at each other across the room, tension crackling. "Your Majesty," interrupted Renaud. "We also have been discussing plans on how best to launch the Thaw. Correct, Commander?"

"Yes," Maebh latched onto the lifeline as she settled in one of the chairs. "The current plan is to send Yves with most of the Wardens to West Hill, while I lead Loghain, Renaud, and Ghislaine on a smaller reconnaissance mission through Lothering and Ostagar."

Alistair nodded. "Makes sense."

"But we've wasted so much time here already, perhaps I should send Yves and the others directly to Amaranthine to prepare the Keep there?"

"Not a bad idea," Loghain conceded. "We can handle the Thaw better from Amaranthine and take on recruits. It may take us a bit longer to get started but we will be more efficient once we are fully operational there."

"But then why waste time at Ostagar at all? It seems that all should go directly to this Amaranthine," Renaud pointed out.

Maebh bowed her head and took a deep breath. "I must confess, I'm hoping we will be able to recover King Cailan's remains and... put them to rest."

Loghain set his drink down with a clatter, leaned back and sighed. "It's been _two years_, Maebh."

Alistair turned on her as well. "Yes, what exactly do you hope to find?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "That's why we're going on a reconnaissance mission! I was just expressing the hope that perhaps we would be able to give the _former king_ the funeral he deserves!" She gulped from her glass, the brandy burning a familiar path.

"Commander," Renaud attempted a reasonable tone, "as noble as those intentions may be, it is quite the undertaking just to ensure the proper respects are paid to only one man."

She stood up and began to pace. "It's not just Cai-- the late king. Many were lost there. Duncan, for example. I should like to pay my respects to him as well."

"Now, you're just trying to manipulate me," Alistair accused into his glass.

"Why would she bother? It's hardly your decision where we go," Loghain pointed out with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Renaud rubbed his forehead. "I knew Duncan as well. He was a good man. But the point still stands, Commander, I must express my reservations about this plan."

"Your reservations have been quite adequately expressed, Warden. If the Commander says we go, then we go," Loghain's temper was rising.

She stopped in her pacing. "There is one other thing. I didn't want to mention it because, well, it's just a collection of unverifiable rumors at this point."

Renaud let his hand drop, eyeing her warily. "Please, go on."

She turned her glass in her hand. "Every report I've been able to track down about Ostagar has been from sources that are questionable, to put it lightly. Traumatized Chasind, wounded, half-mad soldiers, adventurers who were most likely half-mad before they even went there, and the like. But the one thing I've been able to trace as a constant is this claim that Cailan's body has been preserved in some way. There are different explanations as to who is doing it, and how and why they are, but it is..." she swallowed. Cailan's body on the cold ground. "It is troubling, to say the least."

The silence was unbearable. Maebh turned her attention the amber fluid swirling in her glass.. She heard somebody rise to his feet and looked up. "Like the Warden said, I have expressed my opinion. I will follow your orders, Commander. If you'll excuse me," and Renaud walked out.

Loghain waited until Renaud had left and sighed. "Maybe, your continuing devotion to that … man..."

She clenched her teeth. "He was the king. He deserves better. He _always_ deserved better than what he got from the lot of you but I can't do anything else for him anymore."

Alistair groaned. "Oh, come off it. Don't start playing poor Cailan's sob story. Look, it's unfortunate that he was _abandoned_ to die at Ostagar I'll grant you that--"

"I refuse to sit here and simply accept the scorn of cowards like you," snarled Loghain.

"Oh yes, _I'm_ the coward am I? _I'm_ the one who quit the field?"

"_You_ are the one who sent _my daughters_ to fight the _Archdemon_ while you were safely tucked away Maker knows where--"

"Enough!" Maebh shouted as she flung her glass into the fire. It shattered and the flames flared as they consumed the alcohol. "You have both made it perfectly clear that you don't give a damn about Cailan, but I do! I will not allow darkspawn to use his remains as a plaything until he rots! We are going to Ostagar and we are going to pay him the respect he deserves!" She gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward. "If you cannot possibly muster the concern for the man, surely the two of you can respect the office he held," the venom dripped out of her mouth. Neither would meet her eye. "Then it is decided. If you'll excuse me, I find I am quite tired of talking."

* * *

It wasn't a lie, exactly. She had grown tired of talking, but she was still too agitated to sleep. She sat on her bed, staring out the window. It would have been better had her room faced north as well, then she might have been able to catch a glimpse of the moon. She lay down again, reprimanding herself. She should be grateful she has a room all to herself with real doors and walls. More luxuries she would never have been afforded in the Tower. Her stomach grumbled and she cursed Alistair and his obsession with that stew. She curled into a ball, her stomach hard with hunger and frustration.

She was just about to drift into a fitful sleep when she was roused by a tap on the door. "Andraste's knickers," she cursed to herself as she clambered out of bed. "Yes?" she said in the most professional tone she could muster, and opened the door.

She bit back a grumble when she saw it was Alistair. "What is it? Trying to talk me out of going to Ostagar, again?"

He held a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Sh! Can I come in?" he whispered. "Quickly, it would be bad if somebody saw me out here..."

"As His Majesty wishes," Maebh muttered and stepped to the side to admit him.

He turned to face her as she shut the door. The starlight provided only the barest hint of illumination. Maebh frowned and flicked a spark at the taper on her nightstand, providing a bit more light. "It's after midnight," he said quietly.

"That it is. And I have a lot of work to do tomorrow." Maebh controlled her irritation as much as she possible as she tried to not think about how tired she would be in the morning.

"It's your birthday."

And Maebh's spine was jarred from tailbone to the base of her skull when she landed on the floor with a thud. "My birthday?"

He knelt with a faint laugh. "Yes, uh, are you alright? You look surprised."

She leaned against the door as she looked up at him. "I forgot when my birthday was. How did you know?"

He brushed the hair from her forehead. "Well... your sister..."

"Oh, of course." She pushed thoughts of Anora out of her mind. "I... thank you? It was very nice of you to remember."

"I didn't just remember," and in the glow from the candle she saw the familiar slow smile appear. "I brought you a present."

Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the sixteen birthdays that had passed since the last time she had celebrated one. "That was unnecessary," she said softly. "I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't."

"Yes, it was necessary. Very much so, in fact," he chided her affectionately. "I know they don't recognize birthdays in the Tower, but the Grey Wardens don't have any such silly prohibitions." He handed her a small parcel wrapped in a pretty cloth. "The wrapping is part of the gift, by the way. It's a scarf. Or so Anora tells me."

"A scarf? Aren't they usually wool?" The brightly patterned scrap of silk did not seem up to the task of protecting her nose from the bitter winter winds.

He shrugged. "It's some fashionable thing from Orlais. You're suppose to tie it in your hair or around your neck for decoration. She said the colors would suit you, but maybe that will be easier to see in the daylight. But open it! The scarf isn't the only thing."

She untied the loosely knotted scarf and revealed a palm-sized wooden box. "Oh," she said, turning it to admire the intricate carving on the lid. "It's very nice," she said appreciatively. "I'll keep my pen nibs in it."

He laughed again and kissed her forehead. "Open it!"

She lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a pair of lovely, intricately designed silver combs set with a half-dozen moonstones on each, offset by a sprinkling of tiny diamonds. "Oh Maker," she breathed. "I can't…You should take them back. I can accept the box, and the scarf. But these? It's too much."

"Nonsense," he took one of the combs and set it in her hair. "It suits you perfectly." His hands drifted to her face and he pulled her close for a kiss.

There was a moment of hesitation. The scarf was balled tightly in her fist. He took hold of her hand and raised her fingers to his lips. A slight pressure on the wrist, and the scarf was dropped, forgotten. He led her to the bed.

His movements were deliberate. His hands traced a slow path over her body in the darkness, as if he were memorizing her form by touch. He savored every sensation, drawing out the experience until her arousal was wound so tight she was afraid she would shatter. The early summer night breeze blew softly in through the windows, brushing against sweat-slicked skin drawing goosebumps and shivers and deeper embraces. She tried to look into his eyes but could not make out their shape in the dim light.

And then he was over her and around her and in her and she wanted to speak but if she spoke she would cry out and so all that emerged was the softest of moans. He demanded of her with his mouth and his body and she succumbed. She gave of herself until there was nothing left to offer and he claimed it all. He lingered a moment after he was done and got up to go.

"Please," she said softly as she reached for his hand. "Just a few hours."

He pulled his shirt over his head and returned to her side. "You're going to get me in trouble." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"If you were so worried about trouble you wouldn't have come to me in the middle of the night, Your Majesty."

"You know me too well, Commander." His arm wound around her waist, pulling her close.

She traced the line of his muscles through his shirt and nestled her head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck. "How well does she know you?" The name of her sister stayed hidden behind her lips, too painful to speak aloud.

"She's very observant," he replied wryly.

"You should be with her today. You should not have come here." She felt the air drawing into his chest, he was preparing to argue. "Or at least," she deftly sidestepped him, "you should have come at a different time."

He stroked her hair. "I owed you. From last year. You never even said it was your birthday."

"I had other things on my mind."

He was quiet a moment. "We were at the Tower."

She burrowed closer to him as the horrible memories rushed in on her. The bodies. The abominations. The betrayal. Cullen. "Yes. It wasn't a very good birthday."

He kissed her again and brushed the tears from her face. "You saved them. That has to count for something."

"Such as it is."

"Speaking of saving people. You know what happens in about, oh, four months or so?"

"No," she mumbled sullenly into his chest, feeling his heart beat.

"It's the one-year anniversary of you defeating the Archdemon." She felt his words rumble in his chest.

"Hurrah."

"We're planning a celebration. You should come, seeing as, you know, it was you who saved us all and we're having the parade and the ball and the banquet and..."

"No," she jerked back. "No no no no."

He sighed. "Don't make Anora right."

"Right about what? No. Please, don't make me do this. Don't make me dress up like a doll and have to _dance_ in front of _everybody_ and the banquet? Oh Maker, they'll want me to give a _speech_ and Blessed Andraste _not_ a parade..." Her words trailed off as she began to feel the flickers of panic at the prospect.

"Shh," he placed his hand over her mouth. "You will have to make some kind of public appearance, Maebh, the people demand it. You're the Hero of Ferelden! It isn't that bad. You'll do fine. And don't worry about the clothes, Anora says she'll take care of it. We just need you to show up a week before everything starts and let us take care of everything." He sighed happily.

She gnawed a fingernail.

* * *

He left just after breakfast. Maebh nearly slept through it, but Loghain had roused her in time. He had furrowed his brow at the sight of the scarf on the floor and the silver comb still tangled in her hair, but refrained from actually asking her to explain what had transpired.

She stood at the head of her household and her meager force of Wardens. Again, she noted that her father was absent. Alistair was talking. He was always talking, she thought. Always smiling. Always laughing. Putting people at ease, drawing them in with his charm and good humor. The sun broke through the clouds and his armor gleamed.

He thanked them for their hospitality and congratulated them and wished them well. He was the perfect mix of genial and aloof. Again she was reminded of Good King Maric. She shook her head. Focus.

"And, as you all know, the one year anniversary of the end of the Fifth Blight is fast approaching. The Queen and I have decided to hold a festival celebration. Our Maebh will be the guest of honor, of course, and the rest of you are cordially invited as well." He smiled broadly.

Maebh felt a pressure on the back of her arm, and realized Renaud was prodding her. "Yes, uh, thank you Your Majesty. We will have to discuss amongst ourselves who is able to attend. We do have the Thaw to attend to. We'll let you know," she concluded lamely.

"Of course, Commander. I would never dream of compromising your continuing efforts against the darkspawn. Again, thank you all! This has been a most enjoyable visit."

There was an empty spot in the pit of Maebh's stomach, small and hard. Alistair turned and led his entourage away, out of the courtyard, past the gate, and into the tunnel that led through the heart of the mountain and back to the main road. And with each step the empty spot grew until she was completely hollow, brittle, cold. She held her head up, did not turn to face the polite willful ignorance of the servants and the gentle questions of her men. Eventually they grew uncomfortable and drifted away, falling into the usual order of the day.

It was Ghislaine who remained by her side at the end. They stood together, Ghislaine's arm linked with Maebh's. "Oh, Commander," her sigh was surprisingly world-weary as she leaned her head against Maebh's shoulder. "_C'est tragique_, no?"

Maebh's laugh was short and bitter. "Tragedy? I keep doing it to myself. Is that what counts as tragic in Orlais?"

"Of course!" Ghislaine's laugh was ruefully sympathetic. "Is there any other kind?"

Maebh shook herself and turned back toward the Keep. "Well, that's enough of that. We have work to do."


	9. Bruises That Won't Heal

The Spoiled Princess

9:32

Eight months after the end of the Fifth Blight

"Commander, if I may," Renaud interjected.

Maebh stopped, allowed herself a small sigh of frustration and turned around. Loghain continued walking toward the docks. "Yes, Renaud?"

"If the purpose of this visit is simply to restock our supplies, can we not do so adequately at this tavern? What is the point of wasting our time on a long, uncomfortable ferry just to visit the Mage's Tower?"

She took a deep breath. "We need lyrium as well, and you know as well as I that the Chantry and thus the Tower controls access to the lyrium trade. Don't worry, I have no desire to linger."

She turned away then, ending the conversation. She tried not to look too nervous as she quickly walked ahead and caught up with Loghain. "I think he suspects something," she muttered to him.

Loghain turned back and fixed a narrow-eyed stare on the Orlesian, who was occupied with hitching the horses to a post. "That makes us even, then," he replied.

* * *

The familiar panicked feeling hit Maebh like a punch in the gut as soon as she walked through the door. A templar she didn't recognize slammed it shut behind her and she started like a frightened rabbit. Maebh bit her lip and smoothed her robes, mentally chastising herself. Loghain put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Greagoir approached and they both stood with their hands behind their backs.

"Maebh!" Greagoir said with a smile, his normal air of authority broken momentarily. "What an unexpected pleasure!" He flicked a glance at Loghain, but did not acknowledge him.

"Yes, well, we were on our way to Ostagar and thought we would stop by, restock and such." She smiled back.

"Well, my girl, you know you are always welcome here."

The helmeted templar behind Greagoir's right shoulder removed his helm. Maebh's heart lifted. "Cullen?" she asked. "Is it really you?"

His smile was forced, his gaze hollow. "Welcome home, Maebh."

She bit her lip. Greagoir laughed uncomfortably. "No, Cullen. Remember? She doesn't live here anymore."

Cullen's smile faded, his brow furrowed. "It's not safe out there, Maebh."

She stepped forward and touched his arm. "I know that, Cullen. I'm trying to make it safer for everybody."

His hand lashed out lightning-quick and fixed a crushing grip on her arm.

Loghain and Greagoir instantly reached for their swords. Maebh held her hand up, halting them. Greagoir relaxed slightly, but Loghain kept his hand on his sword hilt.

Cullen pulled her intimately close. "You should stay here. I can keep you safe here," he said intensely, eyes pleading.

"It's alright, Cullen. I can take care of myself." She began to pry his gauntleted fingers from her upper arm. "How are you?

"I'm... fine," he turned his hollow gaze to his hand, still clinging to her arm. "Oh, excuse me," he said as he let go.

"Yes, indeed. He has been doing very well lately." Greagoir explained with false cheer. "Once we set up our routine and stuck to it, things got much easier,"

"Well, then," Maebh pounced on the opportunity to gracefully step out of this conversation. "We shouldn't keep you from your appointed rounds, should we?"

"No," Cullen seemed nervous. "We have to check everything."

"I've taken up enough of your time, Knight-Commander. Is the First Enchanter in his office?"

"He is," Greagoir's composure did not crack. "Shall I have somebody accompany you, show you the way?"

Maebh smiled ruefully. "That won't be necessary. I think I can still find it."

* * *

Things were not as Maebh expected as she progressed through the halls of the Tower. It was entirely too quiet. The hum and bustle she had come to expect was gone. The mood had gone from merely oppressive to unbearably tomblike. Maebh struggled to breathe.

She glanced into a classroom as they passed. The mage instructor looked up and met her eye. Petra, Maebh realized in that instant. Petra froze for a split-second then turned her attention back to her young charges. It was as if she didn't truly believe that Maebh was there. Or maybe she didn't believe that Maebh would be so bold as to bring Loghain with her into the Tower. If Wynne's reaction had been any indication, there were quite a few mages who held him personally responsible for the carnage that had occurred in the Tower, or believed that he had planned the horror of Uldred's uprising directly.

Maebh lifted her chin. She didn't care about the Circle Tower's popular opinion anymore. She was here on business and would be leaving within hours. The rumors and speculations about her visit, her purpose for coming, and just what exactly was said by her in Irving's office; these things would be the topic of endless hushed conversations for months, until the next scandal broke. If Maebh had done nothing else for her former dwelling place, she had at least provided plenty of entertainment.

Finally they arrived at their destination. Irving's door was open, as this was how he usually kept it. Maebh walked in without knocking, followed closely by her father. Irving did not look up from his work. "Yes?" he asked without looking up, sounding irritable. "Is this important? I'm in the middle of something..."

"Is that how you greet all your guests?" Maebh asked archly. "Or just the former apprentices who went on to become national heroes?"

"Maebh?" he looked up, disbelieving. "By the Maker!" He rose to his feet and approached her, arms out for an embrace. "What a wonderful surprise!"

She grinned and hugged him. "Yes, well, we were in the area," she said, her tone light and casual. She met eyes with Loghain and tilted her head toward the door. Loghain closed it quietly. Maebh's smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of deadly seriousness.

He backed away, looking from one Warden to the other. Maebh felt him begin to gather his will. "I take it this is not a social visit then. What is this about?" he asked, cautious.

"We need to talk."

Loghain walked over to the window and stared out, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. Maebh consciously ignored the ominous swell of memories that came to her as she remembered the last time the three of them were in this office.

"Go on," Irving ceased gathering his will, but did not relax. He returned to his desk.

"The King came to see me. As it turns out, Weisshaupt is asking questions." Maebh made herself as comfortable as she could in the chair in front of Irving's desk. This particular piece of furniture was not designed for ease.

"What sort of questions?"

Maebh held up her hand. "First things first. I need some information from you."

Irving's finger tapped lightly upon the surface of his desk, his anger barely restrained. "What makes you so certain I am willing to give up this information without you answering my questions first?"

"Because I'm the one asking you. And you owe me."

"And yet you chose to bring _him_ along when you try to claim these favors. How… curious."

Maebh shifted, frustrated. "He had nothing to do with Uldred's actions."

Loghain snorted. "Do be honest, Maebh. I had _something_ to do with it, after all. Just not the way Irving thinks."

Irving glared at Loghain's back. Loghain did not turn around. "Anyway," Maebh continued. "I just need to know which mages were involved in my medical treatment after the battle with the archdemon, and in which way." She gestured toward Loghain, "He has been having trouble remembering. It seems he was actually upset about the prospect of my looming death. And I can't ask anybody else because I'm trying to keep this as quiet as possible."

Irving frowned. "At first it was just Wynne and myself. We decided to concentrate on you, ourselves, while the others tended to the rest of the wounded as best as possible. Our numbers were small enough as it was before the battle, and we lost a few ourselves."

Maebh let out a sigh of relief as Loghain relaxed. "That makes things much easier, thank you."

"Care to explain yourself, now?"

She bit her lip. "One of the things Weisshaupt wants to know is why I'm still alive."

Irving stroked his beard. "I must admit, I was curious about that myself. I assume some kind of magic was involved?"

"Well, sort of. Yes. It was..." Maebh could tell Loghain was tensing. He did not want her to tell Irving what he had done. But she knew she had to reveal something, or Irving would not go along with the plan. "It was a ritual Morrigan knew about. She conceived a child on the eve of battle. The child absorbed the soul of the old god."

Irving stared at her for an everlasting moment, betraying nothing. Maebh stared back, anticipating which of his questions she would evade and how.

"This is why she disappeared after the battle, is it?"

"Yes."

"How was this child conceived?"

"The usual manner."

"Was there blood magic involved?"

She fought an urge to smile. "Well, I was not _personally _witness to the conception, you understand. But from what I've read blood is not what is usually used to conceive a child."

"And the father?"

"Unimportant."

"Did the child survive?"

"I don't know. She disappeared, remember? She seemed to be convinced that it would, but," Maebh shrugged.

"So what do you plan to tell them? Not the truth, surely."

"No, no, don't be ridiculous." She shifted again. "What I was planning to do was to claim that I had conceived a child with Alistair. Neither of us knew, because I had not yet realized that I had quickened. That baby was killed when I slew the demon."

"But I thought it was impossible for two Grey Wardens to conceive a child," Irving pointed out.

"That's what my research has told me," Maebh agreed. "But we were both very new to the Taint, so the corruption had not had time to take its full effect on us. And the specific circumstances surrounding me slaying the archdemon? They were very different than what had happened with the other four Blights. They have no evidence that it _isn't_ possible, at any rate."

"So what do you expect me to do?"

"Nothing, if they don't ask. If they do, all I want from you is to say that I hemorrhaged in a way consistent with a miscarriage early in a pregnancy. That isn't too much to ask, is it? I'll worry about the rest."

"I suppose I can do that. For _you_." He flicked a glance at Loghain, who was still staring out the window and did not notice the venomous look. He turned back to her, expression sorrowful. "But, Maebh, what you have done is... troubling."

She leaned back and crossed her arms. "Is it now."

"How can you even pretend that you are not troubled by the implications of what you have done?"

"I haven't--"

"Semantics!" He interrupted her emphatically, a hint of anger creeping into his tone. "You suggested it, or facilitated it, or at least were aware of it before it happened. You were a part of this, and your protests are meaningless. The only reason you could even try to claim innocence is biology. You know as well as I do, you would not have sought out the aid of whomever it was you coerced into siring this child if you could have done it yourself."

Maebh opened her mouth to protest, but quickly realized he was right. She looked down, chastised.

Spurred on by her apparent shame, Irving continued. "You say it's possible the child did not survive, but you don't know, do you? You have no idea where the apostate even is. You have no way of knowing what she is doing with the child."

"She said she just wanted to raise it alone, in peace," she said quietly, still looking down.

"Yes, I'm sure that's what she said. But you have no idea what she's actually doing, do you?"

"She's my friend." A statement so simple but so hard to voice aloud. Morrigan's absence was still an open wound. The first woman she had ever trusted with that label, the first person to whom it really stuck. And she knew, because she was Morrigan's _friend_, that Morrigan had felt the same way. And she was out there, somewhere, raising Maebh's sibling alone.

Irving softened slightly. "Even assuming that the apostate's intentions were honest, there is no way to ensure that she will even be able to control the child once it is grown. Maebh, you know as well as anybody that children with the souls of _children_ get into enough trouble as it is."

Maebh bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

Irving sighed. "I can understand being afraid, child. But from what I've always been told, the Grey Wardens believe it is their duty to sacrifice themselves to protect the greater good. A harsh fate, but a necessary and honored one."

"Duty," Maebh scoffed bitterly. "And of Greagoir's duty?"

"That is neither here nor there," Irving dismissed.

"No it isn't. It's the heart of the matter." She lifted her head. "You, him, everybody else. You're always telling me what my duty is and what the proper course of action is, but you're wrong." She started to stand up.

"Simply because you do not care for the harsh realities of your responsibilities does not give you the right to ignore them, child."

"When Uldred was running amok with his demons and abominations, Greagoir told me it was his duty to kill all of you. I didn't listen to him. You were certainly fine with that particular dereliction." She began ticking the instances off on her fingers. "When I went to Redcliffe and found that Connor Guerrin was possessed by a demon and was told that I would have to kill the boy. I didn't. The fact that he is now living here and neither you nor Greagoir have seen fit to dispatch the child shows me that you both agree with that decision. I've freed murderers and forgiven assassins and put crowns on bastards and pardoned traitors and you... you _doubters_ and _detractors_ have opposed me at every turn. But I've been _right_. Every time I was _righ_t!"

Her face flushed with anger, her voice rang with righteous indignation. "So spare me your lectures about _responsibility _and_ duty_, Irving. Until somebody actually steps up and offers to start making the kind of decisions I have had to make, I am going to continue keeping my own council. All I need from you is to keep your end of the deal. If you're unwilling to do that, I shall find another way."

Irving's face was stone. "That will not be necessary. I will do as you ask of me."

She sighed. "Thank you." She turned to leave. "Let's go, Warden. We don't want to overstay our welcome." Maebh did not even attempt to hide her bitterness.

Loghain joined her, and she caught a glimmer of approval in his eye. The knot in her stomach eased. At least he stood by her. They reached the door and Irving spoke one last time.

"Warden, after this, I consider the Circle's debt to you as paid in full."

"I saved your life and the lives of everybody in this Tower, and you want to call us even after I ask you to tell one lie? First Enchanter, we are not even _close_ to the debt you owe me being paid."

* * *

Maebh stormed out of Irving's office. She was halfway to the apprentice quarters before she even realized where she was. She stopped and held her hands to her head, trying to will it to stop spinning.

Loghain placed his hand on her shoulder. "Do you need a moment?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I need to get out of here." This cage. This prison. She clenched her fists, the fighting the familiar anxiety. They couldn't keep her locked up anymore. She could leave. She would leave. She turned to take the stairs to the first floor when a familiar form caught her eye. "Oh Maker," she breathed. "No." She approached him against her better judgment, against her own will. Driven by a compulsion she could not name, she reached out and spoke a name she desperately hoped would be left unacknowledged. "Jowan?"

The man turned, his face blank, eyes dull. The unnerving placid face of the Tranquil stared back at her. Her stomach lurched.

"Hello, Warden. Your arrival was unexpected. I hope you are finding everything you came here to find." His voice flat and pleasant. He turned his face to Loghain. "Ah, Teyrn Loghain. Welcome to you, as well."

"Actually," Loghain cleared his throat. "I no longer hold that title. I am simply a Grey Warden, now."

"Ah. My apologies, then. It was not my intent to cause offense."

"Not at all," Loghain shifted his weight and looked over Jowan's head.

"How are you, Jowan?" Maebh asked, voice cracking, hands pressed together to keep from trembling.

"I am comfortable. There is much work to do. I would like to return to it."

"Of... Of course." Maebh shook herself. "Stay well, Jowan."

He turned back to the storeroom. She swallowed, mouth dry.

"We shouldn't linger," Loghain prodded her gently.

"Yes, we should go," she muttered. She tried to remember how her legs worked, and could not connect thought to movement. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for Loghain's hand. "Please," she begged softly. "Until we get out of here."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he did not pull away.

* * *

The boat trip back to the docks was as cold and miserable as always, with the damp breeze turning every attempt to bundle against it into a soggy, clammy failure. Maebh huddled under her cloak in the gathering gloom of dusk, arms wrapped around her bent legs. Loghain reached up and patted her back.

"It's not a bad plan. What you're going to tell them, I mean" he said.

She grunted.

"I thank you for keeping my name out of it."

She turned her face and rested her cheek on her knees as she looked at him. "Irving would never have gone along with it, if I had told him you were involved. They still blame you."

He frowned. "How can they possibly do so? It doesn't make sense. Why would I--"

"I know it doesn't make sense. But they're hurting, and they want somebody to blame." She turned her head and rested her chin on her knees, staring at the small inn on the shore. "It's easier to believe that you somehow convinced Uldred to do that to us. I mean them. It's harder to accept that one of … their own would have... would have..." She bit her lip and curled into a ball of misery.

"I can appreciate that," he conceded. "Having you in charge does make it easier to deal with them."

"I would have joined him," Maebh muttered into her cloak.

"What's that?"

She turned her tear streaked face to Loghain. "If Duncan hadn't come, or if he hadn't recruited me, if I had been left in the Tower and after Cailan died? I would have joined Uldred. I would have joined him in a heartbeat. I couldn't bear that place. Cailan's promise to come get me was the only thing keeping me sane in there. Without that hope?" She bit back a wave of tears. "I would have killed anybody in my way to get out."

He crossed his arms. "It was that bad." He didn't make it a question

"What were my other options, Father? To slowly loose my mind like Cullen or submit to the Rite of Tranquility like Jowan? You don't know what it's like in there. You don't know what that place is. It's a poison. It seeps into your soul and twists you until there's nothing left, just a never ending series fears and schemes. Always trying to hold on to something of yourself while keeping one step ahead of a Templar's blade. And you're always just running in circles. There's no way out." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Every day I thank the Maker for the Grey Wardens and Duncan conscripting me."

He tilted his head at her. "You don't regret that you were born a mage?"

"Don't be absurd," she huffed, turning away. "Why would I wish away my best weapon?"

They were silent a moment. "I am sorry about what happened to your friends, Maybe."

"Why? You didn't do it."

He half-smiled. "Semantics. I aided Uldred, I encouraged him. But I didn't know him, and I shouldn't have trusted him."

She shifted closer and lay her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."


	10. Maebhstown

Author's Note: Oh! Hey there! Sorry about, you know, dropping off the face of the earth for like a month or so. This idea for something original took over my brain and I dove down that rabbit hole. If you're interested at all, I'm posting bits and pieces f-locked on my lj, which is under the same username. If you have an lj, and would like to see this thing, just friend me! Although, I will warn: it's kind of a social science fiction thing, and not fantasy. I don't know if you're into the whole space scene like I am.

For those of you only interested in this particular piece? Yes I will be continuing. Just much, much more sporadically. I would recommend putting it on alerts because I make no promises as to when I'll actually get to this again, other than a vagueish "at some point, sooner or later." I _hate_ leaving things unfinished. So you can rest assured I _will_ complete this. I just make no promises as to _when_.

Without further ado, time for the story!

* * *

Redcliffe

9:32,

8 months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Maebh paused at the windmill, looking out over the small village as dusk settled in.

"Commander, do you sense something?" Renaud asked quietly.

"Hm? Oh, no. I..." Maebh hadn't realized she was tensing as if for battle. She laughed nervously. "I guess since the Blight I've just come to expect bad things to happen when I come here. You know, the first time it was the undead scourge. And then the second time I had to battle a demon and send my best friend to be made Tranquil. And then the third time, well, the third time was just darkspawn but there were an awful lot of them. In fact, I don't think I've ever been to Redcliffe without something awful happening."

"Oh, that's not true," chided Loghain. "There was that time, when you were eight? We we--"

Maebh whipped around and glared at him. "I was seven, and we were celebrating the official announcement of Cailan's betrothal to Anora. So yes, that would count on my list."

Loghain frowned. Maebh scowled back before turning and leading them down to the village.

* * *

Avoiding the castle was a tactical decision on Maebh's part. She hitched BonBon to the post in front of the the tavern and wiped sweaty palms on her robes. With any luck, she would not be recognized. She regarded her father a moment as he took off his gauntlets. It was _possible_ that he would not be recognized as well. How many of Redcliffe residents had ever seen him up-close?

With any luck Ghislaine would be the center of any attention anyway. While Maebh had taken to wearing more modest Tevinter Enchanter robes, Ghislaine still preferred the more daring offerings from the north. Heartened by this thought, Maebh led the group into the tavern.

The place was warm, smoky, and dark, in a way that was instantly familiar and comforting. Maebh relaxed slightly in the glow from the fire and the buzz of happy, relaxed conversation. A minstrel sat on a stool in the far corner, strumming some kind of instrument and singing and old song about a scholar and a princess.

"Renaud, would you mind getting us a round?" Maebh asked as she handed him a silver. He nodded and made his way to the bar while Maebh slid into a corner booth. Loghain sat beside her as Ghislaine bounced over to the minstrel. The two sat in silence a while.

Loghain cleared his throat. "So... seven, eh?"

Maebh scowled. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbled as she traced her fingernail along the graffiti carved into the table. Someone sure felt strongly about their suspicions with regard to Connor's true parentage.

"I certainly don't remember you being unhappy," he pressed. "Besides, you were seven years old. You cannot possibly expect me to believe that a child of that age is capable of understanding..."

"I said I didn't want to talk about it," she repeated more emphatically.

"Well then, what would you like to talk about instead?" he challenged.

She scowled at him. "I wanted to kill you."

"When you were seven years old?" he scoffed.

"Yes. And when I was nine and you sent me to the Tower. And again when I was fifteen and you tried to have me made Tranquil because of something Cailan had done. And again when I was twenty-five and you_ killed him_. And again when you sent an assassin after me. And again at the Landsmeet. I was hoping you would die at the Joining and I'm rather feeling like would like to kill you right now. So drop it, Father," She paused, her gaze venomous. "Please."

He scowled back at her. He took a breath to begin arguing with her but at that moment Renaud returned with their ales, oblivious to the tension. "Commander, you will not believe it!" he grinned broadly.

She tried to smooth her frown. "Is that so? Try me."

He handed a tankard first to her and then to Loghain before settling in beside her. "Were you aware," he continued, "That this the tavern owner has changed the name of this, how do you say, establishment? Since the last time you were here?"

Maebh drank deeply before responding. "No. I was not."

"Would you like to know the new name?" he asked, eyes twinkling with barely-suppressed mirth.

She looked down.

"I don't suppose there's any way we could you telling us at this point," grumbled Loghain.

"The Warden's Rest!" Renaud announced.

Maebh and Loghain sighed in unison. "That's great," she responded lamely. She looked up, eyes wide. "You didn't tell them who I am, did you?"

He looked from one to the other, confused. "Why are we even here if you are so afraid? Have you offended these people somehow? They seem to be universally fond of you."

She shifted. "I just don't like attention. All I want to do is drink my drink, find Eamon or Teagan or whomever and leave our horses here, then get out at first light," she frowned. "Given the choice I would have stopped anywhere else but there was no other option. We can't take them to Ostagar, and Lothering is hardly any better. Anyway, if we can get through tonight without being recognized, I will be much happier."

"Why not just stay at the castle?"

Her frown deepened. "Because I did not want to stay at the castle. I don't like it there."

"Fair enough," Renaud mercifully let the topic drop.

The minstrel and Ghislaine began singing a song in Orlesian, a happy, jaunting tune that soon had the other patrons tapping and nodding in rhythm, regardless of the fact that they lyrics were incomprehensible to most of them. Renaud hummed along as Maebh relaxed even more. She might be able to escape unscathed after all. Loghain concentrated on his drink.

As the evening progressed, there came a moment when Maebh realized she was on the verge of actually enjoying herself. In that same moment, the door burst open with a fanfare of shouts and laughter. In strode Arl Teagan with Ser Perth at his right hand. They were followed by a veritable retinue of the best and brightest Redcliffe had to offer. Maebh groaned and sank down as far as she could on her chair, wondering if anybody would notice if she hid under the table. Renaud leaned forward ever-so-slightly, shielding her in the shadow his body cast. A wave of gratitude washed over her, and she had to fight the urge to squeeze his hand in thanks.

"Bella!" cried Teagan, flush with mirth. His companions seemed to multiply until the entire tavern was full. "A round on me! Minstrel! Play my favorite song!"

"Yes, Arl Teagan!" the two replied as the customers cheered. The minstrel strummed as Bella began filling tankards.

"_Maebh, the mage they call Maebh!_" The minstrel began as the crowd cheered again and got to their feet.

"Oh Maker," gasped Maebh. "What is this?"

The minstrel played a few chords in quick succession as the crowd began to dance to the refrain.

"_She killed the Archdemon_

___And she done saved our hides_

_Stood up to the beast_

_She fought on our side_

_Our love for her now_

_Ain't hard to explain_

_The hero of Redcliffe_

_The mage they call Maebh!_"

Renaud turned to her, eyes wide in shock and amusement. Loghain began to chuckle as Ghislaine shrieked with joy and hopped up and down, clapping her hands. Maebh muttered a prayer of gratitude to Andraste as Ghislaine's display attracted quite a bit of attention, opening an avenue for her to sneak out. Before she could do so, the minstrel continued.

"_Our Maebh saw the apostate come to town_

_And summon the demonic villain_

_And she saw the undead come killin'_

_Every person and leavin nothing around_

_So she said, 'you can't do that to my people'_

_She said, 'you can't kill them and eat their brains'_

_So Maebh strapped on her staff_

_And in five seconds flat_

_Felled every undead in Redcliffe right away._"

The crowd joined in as he sang the refrain. Maebh anxiously tried to execute her escape plan. Renaud casually moved to join in the dancing as Maebh inched toward the door.

The crowd grew quiet as the minstrel dropped his voice for the beginning of the second verse.

"_Now here is what separates heroes_

_From common folk like you and I_

_The mage they call Maebh_

_She entered the Fade_

_And made that demon right die_

_She done saved all our houses_

_She done saved all our hides_

_The mage they call Maebh_

_She stole away our pain_

_And headed out for the Blight!_"

The crowd, including Loghain, cheered wildly and sang the final refrain. Maebh dashed for the door but just as she was about to escape, the dwarf Dwynn caught her wrist and pulled her into the fray.

"_She killed the Archdemon_

_And she done saved our hides_"

Dwynn grinned as he passed her off to Perth, who did not recognize her at first.

"_Stood up to the beast_

_She fought on our side_"

But realization soon dawned and Perth laughed as he spun her into the center of the room. Maebh despaired as her escape route was eliminated and desperately looked for Renaud to help. He reached for her, but a quarter-turn later and she was ripped out of his grasp.

"_Our love for her now_

_Ain't hard to explain_"

Perth passed her to Teagan, who held her so tightly around the waist that she could not leave without resorting to magic.

"_The hero of Redcliffe_"

No, that would be a bad idea. Although, there weren't any Templars in the tavern...

"_The mage they call Maebh!_"

A hush fell over the crowd as Teagan stared at her in delighted disbelief. "Is this some kind of joke?"

She pushed herself away from him and crossed her arms. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked as she tried to not look longingly at the door.

Teagan laughed uproariously. "It _is_ you! Maker's Breath, Maebh, what are you _doing_ here?"

And the crowd cheered wildly as they all realized who was standing before them. Maebh burned with embarrassment and turned toward Teagan to hide her face. He raised his hand to hush the crowd. "Yes, yes, we are all very happy to have you, whatever your reason. But perhaps we should go somewhere a bit more private, hm? Bella!" he turned to the hostess. "I'd like the upstairs room, please."

Maebh turned and gestured to Loghain, who raised his eyebrows, but obeyed. Teagan's smile faltered a moment. "Oh, yes, of course," he quickly recovered. "Your companions are welcome as well."

Bella opened the private room for Teagan, Perth, Maebh, and her companions. "I'll send the girl up with some refreshments right away, ser."

"Thank you, Bella, that will be lovely," Teagan winked at her as she left.

Once Bella had left, Maebh turned to Teagan. "Well, first things first. Let me introduce my fellow Wardens: Renaud and Ghislaine."

"Monsieur, Mademoiselle, e_nchanté_," Teagan bowed and took Ghislaine's hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

"Ser is too kind," Ghislaine gushed as Renaud nodded.

"And, may I introduce my companion, Seneschal Perth."

Perth nodded.

Maebh clapped her hands. "Oh, Perth! You've been promoted? That's wonderful!"

"Yes, my lady. Today, in fact. That's why we came to the tavern to celebrate, in fact."

Maebh threw her arms around his neck. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, my lady," Perth blushed.

There was a tap on the door and Renaud opened to admit the serving girl. "_Merci_," he said and took the tray.

"Ser," the girl said softly. "Miss Bella wanted me to pass along her apologies. She did not realize My Lady the Hero of Ferelden was here. She said she mistook your group for traveling Orlesian merchants and offers her most sincere apologies." The girl tried to give the silver back to Renaud.

"Absolutely not!" burst Maebh. "You take that back to Bella and tell her that if she won't let me pay for my drinks, by Andraste's Holy Eyelashes I will take that silver and _make her eat it_."

The girl paled. "Yes, my lady," she squeaked and bolted from the room.

Renaud set the tray on the table in the center of the room, and the group helped themselves to the tankards before settling on the various benches and chairs. Teagan opted for the large chair towards the center of the room while Renaud and Ghislaine perched on the bench by the fireplace. Loghain sat in an armchair towards an alcove in the corner, half lost in shadow, while Maebh and Perth found themselves on a loveseat by the door. An awkward silence settled over the room. Maebh gulped her drink as her eyes searched for a neutral place to look.

"So," Teagan broke the silence and leaned back, "Maebh. You kill an archdemon and the moment you're well enough to stand for more than a few minutes at a time you bolt off to Vigil's Keep, making virtually no contact with anyone save a handful of Orlesian Grey Wardens, admitting only the most royal of visitors. And then you traipse into my arling without any advance word, where you pay for your drinks like a common fishwife while trying to sneak out the door just as I happen to arrive with a retinue that also includes a good friend of yours." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know if I'll ever understand you. Is it because you're a mage? Or is it because you're a Mac--"

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Teagan, you know I despise the kind of display like the one that just occurred. And I am not too proud to pay for that which I consume."

"More like too proud to accept the gratitude the people would like to offer. If I may be so bold, my lady," Perth chided gently.

She shook her head. "You want me to act as if I think myself high-and-mighty. How does that help anybody? I don't have time to play queen, that's Anora's job. I have work to do."

"Anora has work to do as well, girl, you know that," reminded Loghain from the shadows.

Maebh scowled.

Teagan sighed. "That's neither here nor there. How have you been, my darling? You would not believe the rumors that have been flying about you."

Maebh took another deep drink. "Like what?"

"Oh, that you're hiding the fact that you're carrying the king's bastard. Ironic, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the absurd notions."

"There's more! There's also a rumor that you're planning a coup against the good queen. This one has a few variations on your plans for her husband, I must admit."

"What possible reason could I have for doing that?" Maebh exclaimed in exasperation. "I have enough bother with the darkspawn!"

"Oh, I know, I know, my dear. Would you like to hear the best one?"

She took another deep drink. "There's one even better?"

"My personal favorite is the rumor that you've begun to transform into an archdemon yourself."

Maebh choked on her drink as Renaud, Ghislaine, and even Loghain began to laugh heartily. "Oh, of all the nonsense," she spluttered.

"Oh, I don't know Commander," joked Renaud. "You are a _monster_ on the practice field."

"And in the potions laboratory," groaned Ghislaine.

"She certainly has the temper of one," Loghain said, almost fondly.

She scowled, glaring at them all.

"But, now that I can see that these rumors are all entirely false, might I be so bold as to ask what brings you to my humble holding?"

Maebh fell silent as she regarded the now half-empty mug in her hand. "I'm leading an expedition to Ostagar," she said quietly. "I was rather hoping I could board my horses here. I don't know what we'll find there, and I'd rather not go through the trouble and expense of shipping in new horses from Orlais, should something unfortunate happen to them."

"Of course! My home is yours. Just ask and I shall provide," he said, holding his arms wide.

"Ser is too kind," breathed Ghislaine.

Teagan winked at her before turning back to Maebh. "But, why Ostagar? Why now?"

She swirled the drink in her mug. "I was not completely cut off from the world up in Soldier's Peak, you know. I received the same information you did, I'm sure. About Cail--" The name caught in her throat. "About the late king's body. Somebody has to investigate. If it is true that the darkspawn have committed outrages upon his remains..." Tears welled in her eyes. Cailan's body on the cold ground. "I couldn't bear the thought of it any longer," she finished, voice barely above a whisper.

Perth patted her on the back. "Of course not. Perhaps, my lord, we could send some knights? I could assist you, if the Arl would give me leave."

Maebh smiled and shook her head. "No, I could not risk that. I wouldn't want to expose non-Wardens to the dangers of darkspawn blood, now that I actually have that option. Don't worry, if we run into anything we can't handle, we'll retreat and send for reinforcements."

Loghain snorted. "Something we can't handle? You think there's another archdemon lurking about in the Kocari Wilds?"

She rolled her eyes. "As shocking as this may sound, am not so foolhardy as to try to press my luck and see if I would survive a _second _encounter with such a beast."

"You have a point, I suppose," he replied.

The conversation lulled. The fire crackled soothingly, the sounds of merriment floated up from below. Maebh shifted and cleared her throat. "Well, anyway, I appreciate your hospitality but you really should go back down to the party. Especially, you, Perth!"

"You won't join us?" Perth asked.

"Oh, no," she drank the rest of her ale. "We have to leave at first light. And I'm no good at these things anyway. Thank you again, Teagan."

"Not at all. I'll send word to the castle to have some rooms made up for you and the stables made ready. Would the rooms you were provided on your last stay be satisfactory?"

Maebh bit her lip. "To be honest? No. If it is at all possible." She looked down briefly. "Not very pleasant memories, you understand."

"Of course, of course. I shall include instructions to put you in the East wing." He rose to his feet as Maebh and the others stood to go. "You really should visit more often, you know. The people here love you. They're talking about making a statue!"

"Oh Maker. Don't let them. Please."

* * *

The next morning dawned grey and miserable. Maebh met Loghain and Renaud in the courtyard, where Perth was seeing them off.

"Where's Ghislaine?" she asked as she made her way down the rain-slicked stairs. "Is she not awake yet?"

Renaud shook his head, a wry twist to his mouth. "She's saying goodbye to the horses, Commander. She is quite overcome, I'm afraid."

Maebh crossed her arms. "She'll get over it. We need to get going."

"My lady," Perth said, pale and squinting, "Arl Teagan sends his regards. And apologies. The festivities lasted much longer than we anticipated. The Arl is in no condition to attend to guests, I'm afraid."

"Not at all, Perth, I rather expected it."

Ghislaine finally joined them, eyes downcast, sniffling softly. "Please, ser, be good to my BonBon. And Citrouille. And Demonté and Cocotte."

"Of course," his reply was delivered not in his usual gentle manner. His tone with Ghislaine was downright tender. He took her hands in his. "You can rely on me, my lady. They will be well taken care of."

"Oh, thank you!" The Orlesian woman looked up at him, face shining with gratitude.

"Yes, well, let's be off," Maebh turned to lead the others out the front gate. "I hope you Orlesians remember how to walk."

"Oh, we do indeed," Renaud replied. "It is very what we would call _provinçial_, but eh, you know. As they say, when in Tevinter…"

Maebh sighed.

"Now now, Commander!" Ghislaine chirped brightly. "If we get tired, why, that is why we brought along your fine, strapping friend, _oui_? He can carry us the rest of the way."

Loghain regarded the woman with an icy stare. "You give me too much credit, madam. I would have no problem leaving you and your sore Orlesian feet behind in the dust."

"That's enough, both of you," Maebh scolded.

This promised to become a _very_ long walk.


	11. Hardly Her One Sacrifice

A/N: Ok so I had _planned_ to update at least once a month and that uh... didn't really happen. Sorry. I'm going to try to keep to that schedule, though. I swear! I seriously do love you guys and I don't like leaving you hanging. If you're worried about missing the next update, be sure to put it on alerts because I can't keep to any kind of regular updating schedule right now. I hope this is worth the wait!

* * *

Lothering

9:32

9 months after the end of the Fifth Blight

The stench of decay and burning bodies hung thick in the air. Ghislaine held a delicate hand to her face, covering nose and mouth with a gauzy kerchief. Maebh didn't even notice such things anymore. It occurred to her that this was probably a bad thing, and she stole a glance at Loghain. Like her, he did not seem particularly put out by the gore. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, either.

He heaved another body on the fire.

Maebh turned away from the mass pyre; it had become another all-too-familiar sight.

The trip to Ostagar was taking longer than she had expected. Between Ghislaine's slow pace to the near-constant skirmishes with clusters of darkspawn, the trip from Redcliffe to Lothering alone took nearly a month. Somewhere during their journey a terrible thought occurred to Maebh. Perhaps if they took long enough she would be able to avoid the Anniversary Celebration in Denerim after all. She tried not to think such guilt-ridden thoughts, but keeping them quiet was not an easy task.

She wiped the sweat from the back of her neck. Clearing the center of town had proven to be hot, sweaty work. A movement caught her eye, and she spotted Renaud emerging from the small chapel, carrying something in his hand. He had stripped down to his leather trousers and boots hours ago, and now his upper body from neck to waist was dusty from the smoke and streaked with sweat. A flutter tickled her gut and she quickly looked up. She noticed that his hair had grown, and was now long enough that it hung forward over his eyes. A bizarre impulse overcame her, and she was forced to hold her hands behind her back so as to resist the urge to start braiding it.

"Commander," he greeted her, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

"You should really braid that, you know," she blurted out before she could stop herself..

He paused and tilted his head at her. "_Pardon_?"

"Your hair, I mean. It would keep it out of your eyes, you see," she looked down, feeling as awkward as the day Renaud had first arrived at the Keep.

He smiled slowly. "Ah, but then my compatriots would surely accuse me of, how do you say, going native," he chuckled softly, and her anger snuffed out before it had a chance to flare. "And besides, I am afraid to admit that I do not know how."

"I...," she swallowed, "I could show you. Tonight, during first watch."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Very well then. I live but to serve, Commander," he dipped in a courteous bow.

"Anyway, um, you were going to say something to me," she asked, straightening her shoulders.

"Ah! _Oui_! It is common for all the Templars in Ferelden to be assigned a post in the Tower for a few months, no?" He began to uncover the object in his hand. It was a silver helmet, wrapped in a scrap of maroon cloth. "I was curious. There is a body in there of a man... I just was wondering if you knew him. Perhaps you could give him a proper funeral."

She took the helmet from him, and was surprised by the stinging in her eyes. "Bryant," she whispered. "He told he was going to stay until he was ordered to leave. I guess that... didn't happen." She took several deep breaths, blinking away tears. "What foolishness," she laughed without mirth at herself. "One man."

Renaud took a step closer and lay a hand on her arm. "If you would prefer, Commander, I could accompany you."

"Yes, thank you. I think I would prefer that."

* * *

That evening they made camp outside of Lothering. Maebh noted with a pang the tears of exhaustion in Ghislaine's eyes when she had announced they would not be staying in the town they spent all day clearing. She forced herself to ignore them. The thought of sleeping within the village limits filled her with an unbearable feeling of desperation. No, there was no helping it. They could not stay in Lothering.

It was just as well. The simple and familiar environs of the town led to a false sense of security.

They stopped for the night at an abandoned farmhold. It was not the type of place Maebh preferred to stay; such structures often attracted other less savory "travelers", searching for shelter or goods to scavenge. But it was a concession she felt she had to make, given that she had insisted on this march in the first place. Ghislaine looked as if she would fall down dead on the spot were she asked to pitch a tent, and even her more stalwart Wardens looked worse for the wear.

The old barn they found was drafty and full of little rooting birds, but the hayloft still had some old dusty straw in it. Maebh was grateful for the warm night, as this meant they did not need to light a fire. Darkspawn were not the only danger that lurked in the night.

Renaud handed out some provisions after the bedrolls had been carried up to the loft. Mutely the group ate, too tired to speak.

Loghain cleared his throat. "Who will take first watch, Commander?"

Maebh could not make out his face in the dark. She was glad, he looked so haggard and drawn lately that it physically hurt her to look at him. "Renaud and I. You and Ghislaine get some rest."

She did not have to tell them twice. Ghislaine fell asleep on top of her bedroll still wearing her robes and whimpered slightly in her sleep. Maebh pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head. But soon her sobs faded and only sounds of Ghislaine and Loghain's deep breathing could be heard. It was hypnotic, soothing, Maebh shook herself to keep from falling asleep. A huge owl suddenly appeared out of the rafters above her, silently gliding into the surrounding darkness. The sudden movement made her stomach jump.

She heard the creak of Renaud's leathers as he stiffened slightly. She smiled. "Not used to things that go swoop in the night?" she asked lightly.

"I am afraid not, Commander," he replied ruefully. "I spent my early childhood in a town far to the north called Churneau, on the border between Orlais and Nevarra. A vast and trackless plain, defined by its constant winds and its little wildflowers and lizards." He laughed fondly. "A good childhood."

"Your early childhood," she tilted her head quizzically. "What happened to the rest?"

Renaud paused, and Maebh regretted asking. "My father died of a fever when I was six years old. My mother quickly remarried, and we moved to Val Royeaux." His tone turned flat, and Maebh decided not to press any further. "And you," he asked.

She snorted. "I was sent to the Tower when I was nine."

"And before that?"

"Before that…" She paused as her thoughts drifted. Gwaren, Denerim, Father, Cailan. "Before that I was a different person."

She heard the creak of his leathers and made out a vague shape in the dark. "I should begin the patrol. Perhaps you could install some wards, no?"

By the time they had finished their duties, the clouds had cleared enough to allow the moon to shine through. They met up again, just ouside of the barn where Loghain and Ghislaine were still sleeping.

"Commander, if I may be so bold," Renaud started.

"By all means," Maebh lifted her hand to him in the pale moonlight, inviting him to continue.

He shifted his weight. "Earlier, you mentioned that you would like to teach me how to braid my hair. I wonder if I could trouble you so and take you up on the offer. I find it excessively aggravating in battle to have my vision impeded," he finished quickly, sounding almost bashful.

"Oh! Of course!" Maebh felt her hands grow cold. Why was she suddenly feeling embarrassed? It needed to be done. "Do you have a brush?"

"_Oui_," and he went to his pack.

Maebh climbed onto a pile of crates stacked beside the barn door, wiping her palms on her robes as she sat down. Renaud had just enough time to return to her before the moon was once again concealed by clouds.

"_Lune __satané_," he muttered. "I suppose this will have to wait."

Maebh pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not necessarily. I can do it in the dark, and maybe just explain it and you can feel what I'm doing and that way you can learn. If that doesn't work, we'll just have to do this again when it's lighter. Or when we can light a fire without attracting attention."

"_Bonne idée_, Commander."

"First, you need to brush and make sure you get any tangles out. Think you can manage," she asked, feeling almost girlish, even a little giddy. She frowned at herself, mentally scolding such unbecoming conduct.

There was a long pause. Maebh cursed the darkness that concealed his face. "Perhaps," he said finally, his voice dropping dangerously low, "you could help me with it."

Slowly, she reached out towards him, eyes straining against the soft black night. Her fingertips brushed against a tight-muscled shoulder, the tender skin of his neck slick with the slightest sheen of perspiration, the jaw bristling with whiskers, and finally to the thick hair dusting his eye and cheekbone. She gently took a lock of his hair in her hand and began brushing a few inches from the end, before working her way up to the scalp. Once the lock was brushed smooth, she moved to another, leaning forward slightly to better reach. "You know you can just call me 'Maebh', right," she said lightly, casually, trying to control the heartbeat pounding in her chest, the sudden breathlessness as if she had just run a mile. "You really don't have to call me 'Commander'. Loghain doesn't. Alistair never did."

Again he was silent, and Maebh wondered if maybe she had gone too far. "With all apologies to my brother Warden and the King, I would like to think that I treat you with more respect than they."

She paused in her labor. "It's not that, they... Well..." Anger began to bubble in her stomach. He didn't understand. She tried to keep her tone light. "You know I didn't know Duncan very long but nobody called _him_ 'Commander'. At least, I mean, as far as I can recall." She felt a sudden and bewildering surge of grief for the man. Why? She had barely known him two weeks before...

"I suppose you're right." He chuckled softly. "I am afraid I still have some learning to do about your ways here."

"Yes, you do," she agreed, her anger dissipating. "Now, what sort of braid would you like?" She reached into her pack for some leather ties.

He laughed softly. "I think I would greatly enjoy ones as elaborate as Loghain's. They would suit me, no?"

Maebh pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggles that threatened to break the quiet. Her father would not react well to the sight, and probably assume that the young Orlesian was mocking him somehow. "No, that would be a bad idea for so many, many reasons. Plus, your hair isn't nearly long enough."

"Well, Com- _Maebh_, what would you suggest?"

"Hmm," she ran her fingers through the fringe covering his forehead, feeling for thickness and length. "I think just I'll do one across the forehead, like Teagan's. Would that be alright with you?"

"But of course," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She began to work, carefully explaining the process and stopping frequently so he could put his hands over hers and feel what she was doing. Sometimes his fingertips would linger over hers and it was all she could do to keep from trembling. Finally, she tied the braid with the leather and squared her shoulders. This was ridiculous, she chided herself. She had known the man for seven months, what was there to be nervous about?

Renaud sat beside her on the ground, back resting against the stack of crates. They were silent for a while, listening to the animals of the night. "Shall we wake the others? Is it time for second watch yet?" Renaud asked.

Maebh shook her head. "Let them sleep. They need it." She tried to put out of her head the thought of what the Taint was doing to her father. He was too stubborn to admit it, but Maebh could see him declining. She wondered if he was one of the ones who could not shut out the nightmares.

Almost as if in response to her thoughts, Loghain coughed and sputtered. "Maybe? Where are you? They're here! You must find your sister..."

She jumped down from the box and went to him. "Father, I'm here. Everything is fine."

"Where is Anora? Where is your mother? Where _are_ we?" She heard the rustling of his bedroll as he tried to get up. "Wait. I know..." he sighed. "Forgive me."

"We all have those dreams sometimes," she swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat. "But it's not time for you to take the watch yet. You should get some rest."

There was a pause, and for a moment she was afraid that he would insist. "You're right. Just don't forget to wake me when it is my turn. You need your rest as well, you know." He patted her knee and laid back down.

Maebh returned to her seat with Renaud, suddenly weary. She sat down with a sigh. The moon broke through the clouds again and Maebh saw his grin glinting. "What is it," she asked warily.

"Oh, nothing. Ghislaine just owes Yves ten silvers," he said, the glee dancing in his voice.

Maebh pinched the bridge of her nose, a flicker of a headache beginning to throb. "Dare I ask why?"

"She was convinced that Loghain was your lover."

* * *

She had avoided the inevitable for too long, Maebh realized as they battled their way through the twice-ruined fortress. If she had returned a year ago, there would not be nearly so many darkspawn here, nor they be so well-fortified. But she could not stand to face this a year ago. The wound was too raw, her grief too fresh, her rage at Loghain too hot. She looked at her father, mopping his brow after the last skirmish. The circles under his eyes had deepened. Why hadn't she noticed this earlier? His skin seemed grayer as well, hanging more loosely on his face. He fought just as fiercely as ever, of course. He was too stubborn to do otherwise.

"Commander!" called Ghislaine from behind a pile of stones that at one point formed a wall. "Is this not the royal crest?"

Maebh made her way to where the young elf had taken cover during the last battle. The outcropping of stone, the few scorched tent pegs that remained, she trembled as the memory crashed on her like a wave. "Yes, this was the location of his tent," she said, her voice barely audible. Ghislaine nodded, stepping away from the emblazoned chest.

She had been happy here, in the brief hours Cailan and she had together. His memory had faded, but certain things remained: his easy smile, casual confidence, his clear mind unclouded by guilt or doubt or shame. There was the way he exuded a sense of comfort and vitality and the clean, sun-warmed smell of his hair. That night, in his arms she had felt peace. She had felt _whole_.

Now, however, she felt small and cold and hard as she knelt and carefully opened the lid. To her surprise, the sizable chest was mostly empty. It occurred to her then that it had probably held his armor, the same armor she had been finding bits and pieces on high-ranking darkspawn. That fact that troubled her more than she was prepared to admit. There were a few bits of clothing, padded shirts to wear under armor and the linen pants he had been wearing when she...

She blinked and took several deep breaths. She had wept her tears, she reminded herself. It would not do to get so emotional over him in front of her new comrades.

Beneath the clothing was a longsword covered in curious runes that glowed bright blue. The blade was shaped like an hourglass, the edge razor sharp. Maebh set it aside. She favored a more graceful blade over such unwieldy thing. Perhaps her father would appreciate it. If it belonged to Cailan, it was most likely both expensive and very well-made. If Loghain didn't want it, it would fetch a fair price.

She almost missed the last item in the chest. There, beneath the clothes and the sword and only when she ran her hand along the bottom, checking for odd coins, she felt a small packet of papers. She pulled them out and into the light. The handwriting on the front was not Cailan's, she still had enough of his letters to tell that. No, this was a woman's handwriting. An educated woman. Perhaps they were from Anora? She felt an odd twinge of jealous curiosity. What sort of letters would her sister have written to the man, anyway? She slipped them into her pocket. These would wait until she had a moment alone.

* * *

It did not make sense. She was not seeing what was in front of her. It was a trick. Somebody was lying to her, tricking her, betraying her. Why? Who would want to hurt her in such a way?

She looked up again at the body hanging, crucified, mocked, defiled. The same golden hair, the same peaceful gaze, the same body she had felt not hours before his death. But it could not be. It could not be him.

"Maebh," Loghain touched her arm. "You... speak, please."

She turned her gaze to her father, feeling strangely detached. "It is a curious thing, isn't it? I wonder at their purpose..." her eyes drifted back.

"Commander," shouted Renaud from the far side of the bridge. "The necromancer!"

The world snapped into focus as Maebh whipped around to see the cackling genlock with the disgusting headdress scamper off past the bridge. "Necromancer," she growled, a firestorm of rage pulsing through her veins with terrifying suddenness. "Yes, he is the one who did this."

Maebh ran. Maebh ran fast. Faster than she had ever run, faster than anybody had ever run. The necromancer would die for what it had done.

* * *

Again she stood in front of the crucified body of her love, flanked by Loghain and Renaud on either side. Ghislaine had already crossed on the far side of the bridge, overcome by the gruesome sight.

"I want to take him down," she said softly. "And make a pyre. He will get a proper burial."

Loghain sighed, but did not argue. Maebh disregarded his unspoken objection. He always had a poor opinion of the man. But his bile would not shake Maebh's resolve.

Renaud clambered up the crude structure, cutting away at the ties that bound Cailan's hands to the crossbeams. Maebh helped him to lower the corpse, and when they were finished she cradled Cailan's head in her lap. Ghislaine returned and brought with her a bucket of water and a rag. She had even heated the water and managed to scrounge a bit of soap. Maebh squeezed her hand in thanks, trying to remember if she had actually asked her to do this. Gently, she bathed the blood and filth from Cailan's skin, combed the tangles from his hair, and dressed him in the armor he had worn to his doom.

By the time she had finished, Loghain and Renaud had built a serviceable pyre. With their help, she laid Cailan's body on the top. She arranged his arms over his chest, smoothed his hair from his brow.

Maebh stepped back with the others. "Would you like to say anything" Loghain asked, barely controlling the distaste in his tone.

"He was not a good king," she admitted, feeling hollow and alone. "He was a good man. A kind man. Had he not been a king, he would have been well-loved by all who knew him. Instead he was regarded as a fool. A failure." Her regret was a palpable thing. It settled in her chest and threatened to smother her. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It is difficult to grow in the shade cast by a hero. I know you wanted to live up to what they expected of you. I won't forget."

She touched a fingertip of flame to the tinder, and only when the flames finally reached his face did she weep.


	12. Trying to Start a Protocol

Hey I just wanted to give a shout-out to my awesomely amazing Wonder Twin of a beta, LotheringRose. She's fantastic. She also betas like everything I write for any reason and just so happens to be a damned good writer herself. I also occasionally make NuitNuit beta as well, but I don't abuse that too often because I think it makes what I write _too_ good so I try to use it in small doses. XD And hey, keeping to my once-a-month update plan! That's good, right?

* * *

Amaranthine

9:32

10 months after the end of the Fifth Blight

"Oh, how lovely it is to be somewhere civilized, a place with walls and a fire and a bath," Ghislaine gushed as the Dryden boys carted buckets of water to the lavatory. "And, as I am sure you know Loghain, I have certain tricks I can employ to keep the water hot, should you require them." Her eyes twinkled as she teased the glowering older man.

"I'll be in my rooms," he said sharply, dropping his bag for the porter and walking off.

Ghislaine shrugged. "C'est la vie. Renaud, perhaps you require my help?" she batted her eyelashes and giggled.

Renaud looked at her, surprised. "Ah, _oui mademoiselle_, as tempting as that offer is I'm afraid I have some pressing... business... Commander," he nodded at Maebh and quickly left, heading towards the stables.

Ghislaine sighed and crossed her arms. "I don't suppose you would be interested in a hot bath, Commander?"

Maebh laughed as she rolled her left shoulder. She had been plagued by a deep ache ever since the archdemon battle, and it always seemed to get worse when she was tired. "I think I can manage on my own, thank you." They began to walk up the stairs together.

Ghislaine pouted. "How long is it until the ball again, Commander?"

She grinned, feeling wicked as she began to tease the other mage. "We leave in two weeks. Actually, I was going to send most of our forces to Vigil's Keep, to complete their relocation and prepare for the arrival of Ferelden recruits. I mean, other than Loghain and myself, I don't see any reason why-"

"Oh," Ghislaine gasped, eyes wide with hurt, "surely you would not be so... so _cruel_, Commander! Not when Ser Perth told me_ himself_ that he would be attending! Oh, please, Commander I have my gown already chosen and I've never even_ been _to a ball before and-"

Maebh laughed even harder. "Oh, alright! Alright! Calm yourself, Ghislaine. You can come along, if you don't mind being my attendant. Would that serve your aims of conquering the hearts of Ferelden well enough?"

Ghislaine pursed her lips thoughtfully and gazed upward, tapping her chin. "Yes, yes that would do nicely," she answered brightly. "So yourself, your honored father, and myself. Shall any others be joining us?" Her tone was far too casual when paired with her arch expression.

Maebh paused on the landing, supporting her weight on the banister. "I was considering asking Krystoff. My father seems to … dislike him the least."

Ghislaine stepped closer, and whispered, "Yes, but Commander, he's _married_."

"What are you getting at?" Maebh began to feel irritable.

"Why not bring Renaud?" She grinned wickedly, glancing about to make sure that none could overhear. "Unless, of course, you think that would make His Majesty too jealous..."

Maebh sighed. Ghislaine had a point. She had found herself growing accustomed to Renaud's calm presence, and it would be helpful to have him nearby during what was promising to be a stressful undertaking. "I will consider what you have said," she promised.

"_Bon_! So it is settled!"

Ghislaine skipped up the rest of the stairs.

* * *

A strange, hollow sound, not unlike horse hooves on paving stones. But closer. It invaded Maebh's thoughts. She frowned and turned her head, but the sound persisted. No, not hooves. A hand. No, not a hand. A fist. On the door. Somebody was knocking on the door.

"Maebh?" her father's voice questioned from the other side of the door. "Is everything alright? We are all waiting for you downstairs."

She shook herself. "Yes, yes, of course." It took all her self-control to keep her voice steady. "Just a few moments, if you please, I'll be right there."

She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, feeling lightheaded. Perhaps it was a forgery? But if so, why would Cailan keep a forged letter that was so incriminating?

It couldn't possibly be real.

Or could it?

Had he really planned to put Anora aside? Had Eamon truly been advocating this course of action?

Maebh sat on the foot of her bed, pain throbbing in her chest. She pressed her palm to her heart. Oh Maker. She picked up the robe she had been packing, which contained the pocket where she found the first letter. There were two more letters, but when she glanced over them she quickly surmised that neither Eamon nor Anora had written them.

She started as the knocking resumed on the door. "Maybe, hurry up." Loghain truly sounded irritated now. "If you dally much longer we'll be caught in the snows."

"Just a minute," she called back, forcing herself to numbness. She shoved all three letters in her pocket.

This would have to wait until she got to Denerim.

* * *

The trip to the capital seemed much shorter than Maebh remembered. Of course, when they had left she and Loghain had been walking through knee-high snows, just barely recovered from the battle. Had a year truly passed already? It also amazed her how different the view was from the back of a horse. She gripped the reins tighter, and Cocotte tossed her head at the change in pressure.

"What's on your mind?" Loghain asked gruffly as the city walls rose into view.

Maebh looked down, surreptitiously glancing around. The other Wardens were either too far away to hear or immersed in their own conversations. She sidled Cocotte a little closer to Demonté and lowered her voice. "Before Ostagar, were Cailan and Anora... Were they having problems?"

Loghain snorted a laugh. "You know, years ago Maric claimed you were funny. I never believed him, but perhaps the two of you just had a more subtle sense of humor than I."

She looked up at him and scowled. "I'm serious! And I mean, more problems than … well than _me_."

Loghain scowled back at her. "This is hardly the time or the place for this sort of conversation, Maybe," he said sternly. "We'll talk at the Keep."

"But!"

"I said we will talk at the Keep!" He nudged Demonté forward, out of easy conversation range. Maebh fumed, trying to keep from gripping the reins too tight.

"Commander?" Renaud asked behind her. "Is something troubling you?"

She turned to see an unreadable expression on his face. "No," she said turning back and squaring her shoulders. "Everything's fine."

* * *

It was strange, standing in Duncan's office. It was still his, the evidence of his toil lingering everywhere. It appeared that not even the servants had set foot in the room since he had left. Maebh kept finding bits of correspondence, the odd pair of gloves, old teacups, even a hairbrush with a few long, dark brown hairs in the bristles.

She had never felt more like an intruder in her life.

Nervously she flipped through the letters, skimming their contents. Bryce Cousland, some woman Fiona, Irving, Cailan, the First Warden, Monstimmard... Some of the names she recognized, some she knew to be dead, some she had written to herself. Bryce had been replaced with his son, Fergus. Cailan with Alistair. The woman Fiona had not written to her. Did Duncan have a life outside of the Wardens? Maebh wondered if she had perhaps been Duncan's lover.

It all seemed so unbearably sad. She quickly shoved the correspondence in a drawer and tried to clear off a spot for herself. She would not be lingering long here, anyway.

"Do you need anything, my lady?" a soft voice asked.

She looked up to see a young elf girl in a servant's uniform. "Oh! Thank you, yes. I should like something to eat and wood for a fire. Also, could you deliver a message to my father? I wish to speak with him."

All three of her demands were met within minutes. The elf placed a tray of food on her desk, another deposited the wood in the fireplace, and Loghain walked in the room. The girl bowed and left while the boy looked for some tinder to light the fire. "Thank you," Maebh told the boy as she took an apple from the tray, "but that won't be necessary."

"Commander?" he asked, perplexed.

Maebh nonchalantly flicked a fingerful of sparks onto the wood, and it burst into flame. The boy jumped back and fled, wide-eyed. Loghain shut the door behind him, laughing a bit. "I'm seeing it more, now," he said, shaking his head. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Maebh shrugged and wiped a drop of juice from her lip. "I want to talk about Cailan and Anora." She said bluntly.

Loghain's smile, such as it was, fell. He walked to the window, folded his arms, and hunched his shoulders. "Why?" he asked, just as blunt.

Maebh pulled the letters from Ostagar out of her pack and toyed with them idly. "Some... information has come to my attention that changes things. I want to know what was going on."

He sighed bitterly and rubbed his forehead. "Theirs was not as good of a match on a personal level as it was on a public level. But you know that first-hand, don't you?" He did not even attempt to hide his scorn. "But, from what was said to me and through my own observations, they appeared to be trying to improve their personal dealings with each other."

"Hmm," Maebh mused.

"What is this about?" Loghain turned, frowning. "Why bring this up now? Are you just trying to assuage your guilt or is there something else?"

Maebh jutted out her jaw. "Something else." She pushed herself up and took the letters over to him. "I found these in Cailan's chest at Ostagar. I was wondering if this was something we had to be concerned about it. After all, Anora did inform me that the Empress would be among the guests."

He snatched the letters and began to read. Maebh held her hands behind her back and lifted her chin, bracing for impact.

He crumpled them, seething. "Of all the moronic, pompous, absurd, empty-headed..." he muttered.

"If Anora has still not yet conceived-" She closed her eyes and swallowed, pushing the mental images that had just arisen in her mind's-eye back to the dark place where they belonged, "We need to tell her about this. Eamon may try this with Alistair as well."

"That is not all that needs to be done, Maebh," Loghain turned back to the window. "You know what _you_ need to do."

Maebh walked back to her desk, momentarily speechless. He had scowled and grumbled about her relationship with Alistair in the past, but he had never directly confronted her about it. "You overstep your place, Warden," she said in her best "Commander" voice.

"As your subordinate, surely. But we are not talking about rank here, Maebh. We are talking about your sister and your brother-in-law and you are up to your neck in it. It is my responsibility as your father to put an end to it."

"You forget your place, _Warden_," she repeated, sitting very straight and placing her hands flat on the desk. "You are dismissed."

"No." He came over to the desk and leaned over to put his hands flat on its surface as well. "You must listen to reason. I have indulged you in this nonsense long enough. If Alistair is going to shame your sister it will not be with your assistance, not any longer. I'm putting and end to it right now, _do you hear me_?"

Maebh stood up again, shaking with rage. "You don't have the _right_-"

"I am your father and you will _obey me_!"

"I am your superior officer and you will leave this office _right now_! "

He snorted and leaned away. "Superior officer?" he sneered as he crossed his arms. "Is that the line you use on that Orlesian?"

Maebh reared back, caught off guard. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"I am talking about your entirely inappropriate relationship with Renaud. Or do you think I wouldn't notice how the two of you have been mooning about?"

Inappropriate? Because he treated her kindly? Because she listened to his advice? It was all too much. "I don't want to talk about any of this. Alistair, Renaud, any of it! I want you out of my-"

"Commander, ser," the elf girl interrupted, "the King to see you."

Maebh slumped, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Loghain if you do not leave this instant I will have you thrown in the stocks, so help me Andraste."

He took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height. "I believe I've said all I have to say." He turned and left, with only the curtest of nods in Alistair's direction.

Alistair, for his part, smiled warmly and nodded cordially back at Loghain before continuing into the office.

"Allow me to personally extend the greetings of the crown," he said, grinning the same boyish grin he always did as his retinue of guards filed in behind him.

Maebh sat back down, feeling anxious. She tried to not look at the stone-faced guards that lined the walls, bristling with weapons. "Why do you do this? Are you bringing bad news? Think I might unleash a firebolt in here or something?" she asked peevishly, shuffling papers as she pretended to look preoccupied.

He laughed and lounged in the chair on the other side of the desk. "It wouldn't be the first time you used your outside spells on the inside, darling."

Maebh felt the eyes of each and every one of the guards on her. "Honestly, can you ask them to go? Even if I did try something you could counter me faster than any of them anyway."

"Always thinking." He waggled his finger at her and winked, turning to the guard standing at his right, "Very well. You may go, but stay close. I'll only be a minute." He stayed perfectly still, keeping eye contact with her until the last guard shut the door behind them. Only then did he gesture for her to come over to him.

She stayed where she was, reluctant to leave the safety of Duncan's desk.

He frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"What are you doing here, Alistair?" she asked, exasperated. "We were going to present ourselves formally later this afternoon." Her weariness seeped into her bones. Oh Maker, please don't let him pick a fight with her, too. She couldn't bear it.

His eyes tightened, even though his smile remained as jovial as it had been when he came in. When did he learn to do that, she wondered. Maybe he always knew. "I haven't seen you in, what, four months? Five?" He rubbed his eyes with his hand. "I don't want to fight."

Thank the Maker. "Neither do I," she said quietly.

He lowered his hand, looking as tired as she felt. "So," he cleared his throat and sat up straight. "How was Ostagar?"

Tears blurred Maebh's vision and she bowed her head. "It was... horrible," she took a deep breath. Don't cry.

"The reports were accurate? Sweet Andraste..." he got up and walked to the windows.

"They were accurate, and…" She took a deep breath. No more tears for Cailan. "And incomplete. I'd really rather not talk about it. But they had a necromancer, which is troubling."

"The darkspawn you mean?" He turned back, disbelieving.

She nodded. "We need somebody to populate the area down there. The darkspawn are making a push for it and if they take Ostagar that would be a powerful fortress for an invasion."

Alistair looked back to the window "How are they going to invade without an archdemon?" He scoffed. "Talk sense, Maebh."

She was quiet as she considered her next words. How could she make him understand? "They _felt_ different, Alistair. They're changed, somehow. I'm can't really explain it."

He clenched his fists. "I should be with you." He sounded bitter, even regretful. "Out in the field.".

"You made your choice in that regard a long time ago," she pointed out, voice as soft as her words were hard.

He took a deep breath. "I thought we agreed to no fighting," he chided her, smile back in his voice. She wondered if it was real.

"Fair enough. At any rate," she pushed herself up and joined him at the window. "We need somebody down there whom we can trust to stick around. The Chasind are useless. Most of them never returned. The ones that are there are jumpy as deer and ready to bolt. We need people down there that we can trust to stay put as well as send word if something changes." She folded her arms and gazed down in the practice yard. Yves was leading the Orlesian Wardens in their daily drills. She tilted her head, trying to make out who was who, but the swirling flurries of snow obscured her view.

"Why not some of them," he gestured. "You'll be getting your Fereldan recruits soon enough."

She shivered in the chill and tried not to lean into him when he put his arm around her shoulders. "No. I'm sending all but two to Amaranthine tomorrow. There are odd reports coming out of there as well, and I don't want to throw any recruits into something they can't handle."

"Aw, they're going to miss the party! And we're all going to have _such_ a splendid time!"

"You know I don't like it when you're sarcastic with me." She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Is it going to be that bad?"

"It's best not to think about it," he advised. "So, have any recommendations for this Blighted land settlement program you've concocted? The Maker knows I don't have any men to spare," he joked without humor.

"Well, what about the Dalish? They want land, they certainly proved their worth as warriors at the Battle of Denerim, they're not likely to give it up without a fight," she tried to remember all the points in their favor. "I suppose the only real problem is convincing them to come to us if there is a problem. They will be leery to believe that we won't just take the land back on a whim."

He nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Not a bad plan. I'll talk to Anora about it."

Maebh felt sick at the sound of her name. Her thoughts went back to the letters. She pulled away from him. "Yes, well," she said lamely.

"Speaking of Anora." He turned and clasped her forearm, pulling her to face him. "She wants you and Loghain to come and dine with us this evening." He grinned, a real smile this time, if a bit chagrined. "A nice family dinner before all the formal stuff gets underway."

The weary feeling returned. "Of course. We'll be there."

He pulled her closer, and she suddenly felt trapped. An odd panic, the kind she thought she would only ever feel at the tower, began to flutter in her chest. "No," she blurted, placing a hand against his chest.

He frowned, hurt. "Why? What's wrong? I don't have something dribbling out my nose, do I?"

"No, it's just that..."

He reached up and placed his hand at the back of her head. "I haven't seen you in so long, don't tell me you didn't miss me."

Her heart was cracking. She wanted everything he did but her mind kept returning to the letters on her desk, she couldn't betray Anora like Eamon and Cailan were prepared to do. She realized she was gathering her will and released it. "It's not that, it's just that I- please, Alistair, _stop_!" she yelped, louder than she intended.

He released her, stunned, as the door quickly opened.

"Excuse me if I'm interrupting," Renaud announced loudly before he entered the room, "But Yves sent me to ask you— oh, I beg your pardon," he raised himself to his full height and looked down at Alistair.

Alistair waved his hand dismissively. "No, please continue. You were interrupting nothing."

Renaud turned to Maebh. "Commander, Yves sent me to ask how long we were to stay here before proceeding to Amaranthine."

"I should like for them to stay an evening here and then continue on. It would do everybody some good to get a good night's rest," she replied, trying to mimic Anora's perfect posture.

"_Mas oui_," Renaud replied, bowing and turning to leave.

"Renaud." She stopped him and went to the door. "If you would be so kind as to inform Krystoff that it will not be necessary for him to stay here with Loghain, Ghislaine and myself. And that," her voice dropped and Renaud leaned a bit closer, "I should like you to stay in his stead."

Renaud looked at her sidelong a moment before nodding. "But of course," he bowed again and left.

She turned back to Alistair, leaving the door open. "Was there anything else you require, Your Majesty?" she asked calmly.

She felt a pang as she saw the little muscles in his jaw working. "No, not at all my dear Warden. We will see you this evening at supper."


	13. Tread Softly

Denerim

9:32

Twelve months after the end of the Fifth Blight

Maebh stormed out of the dining room, slamming the door behind her, and ran down the hall. She didn't know where she was going. She just wanted as much distance as possible between herself and every last one of _them_.

She ran by instinct alone, dodging servants and tripping over thick carpets and ostentatious furniture before she skidded to a stop at the top of the grand staircase. Staring up at King Maric's portrait, she felt something inside her snap.

"Where are you," she screamed, heedless of the startled glances from the guards at the bottom of the stairs. "You should be here! If you were here, _none_ of this would have happened!" She choked on bitter tears, balling her hands into fists and struggling against the urge to set the portrait ablaze.

She had almost lost that struggle when somebody grabbed her elbow, turning her around. "Commander," Renaud asked, looking at her with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"I want to go home, Renaud. Please?" She couldn't breathe in here. The air in the palace stank with disapproval. She did not belong.

"I do not understand, Maebh," he said gently as he began to lead her down the stairs. "Where do you want to go?"

She realized he was right. The Denerim headquarters were not "home". They were not returning to Soldier's Peak after the ball, but heading straight to Vigil's Keep. And the Tower was a prison, not a home. She shook her head, feeling dazed. "I don't..." Where had she _ever_ felt at home? She gasped for air. An idea came to her. "There is a garden just off the North Wing. If I could go there and collect my thoughts..."

"But of course," he nodded. "Shall I accompany you, or should you like to go alone?"

"No," she grasped his hand on her arm. "Stay with me, please. Don't let anybody talk to me."

He nodded solemnly.

Her legs trembled by the time they reached the garden. She sank onto the bench and leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. Rage, shame, frustration, and anxiety warred within her. This was only the first day of this celebration. How would she ever last the entire week?

Renaud sat next to her, quiet and steady. It occurred to her that he must have questions about what just happened, questions he did not ask. He was giving her time to think. He always gave her time to think. "I am so grateful that you are here," she said, angry tears already beginning to recede.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Comman—Maebh," he asked carefully, using her name like she had asked.

"I don't know. Renaud," she turned to him. As much as she disliked revealing herself, leaving herself open and vulnerable, she needed his help. "Have you ever... been in love?"

He paused before speaking. "Maebh, I'm twenty-eight years old and Orlesian. I've had my heart broken a dozen times and broke two dozen more."

She laughed and leaned a little closer. "Have you ever had to … I don't even know the word for it. But I can't... I have to stop..."

He sighed, "You and your lover have reached the end of your story together, and must go your separate ways, is it?"

She thought about that a minute. "Yes. That's a very nice way to put it, actually."

He shrugged, and she could make out the glint of his smile in the moonlight. "And so it is, _non_? My people are known for saying very bad things in very nice ways."

She rolled her eyes. "I learned a great many about your people at my father's knee. Very few of those things seem to actually be true, though."

"Mademoiselle is very kind."

"I'm hardly a 'mademoiselle', Renaud," she said bitterly. "Anyway, I wanted to ask if you've ever... I mean, I don't have any experience in this sort of thing." It felt like such a foolish thing to admit.

"Truly? I would think... That is to say, I suppose not everything I was taught is true..." he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for a polite way to say that he believed all mages to be wanton.

Maebh folded her hands primly. "I have had three men in my life. One died hours after we lay together for the one and only time. The second never so much as touched me and has since … he's not himself anymore. And the third... is the one I'm having trouble with." She tried to cover her fear and shame with excessive forthrightness. All the courtesy was beginning to grate on her nerves.

He cleared his throat, "I see."

"I need your assistance in this matter, Renaud. It's a delicate thing I'm doing and, as I'm sure you're aware, if I make a mistake it could be very, very bad for the Grey Wardens as a whole in this country." She shifted her weight, sitting up straighter. "So, you've had so much success breaking hearts, what's the best way to do it?"

He sighed and bent forward, propping his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees. "That's not exactly what I meant. And I exaggerated. I'm sure that is something your father taught about us that is true. I am afraid I am out of practice in the art of heart breaking. Perhaps Ghislaine would be better suited to your needs." He stood. "It grows late, Commander. We should return and see if Loghain is ready to depart."

They were silent as they entered the palace. Maebh paused at the bottom of the grand staircase. "I have no idea where they even are," she said, feeling slightly ill at the size of the place.

At that moment they were rescued by Erlina, Anora's maid. "Her Royal Highness sent me to find you, Commander," she said, bowing slightly.

Renaud stiffened slightly, and out of the corner of her eye Maebh could see him frowning. Ignoring his odd reaction to the elf, she turned to her. "Oh? Anything in particular?"

"She wished for me to inform you that your belongings have already been moved from the Warden Headquarters to the palace. You will be staying here for the remainder of the celebration." Erlina's tone was calm, but she held herself stiffly.

"What," Maebh burst out, flinging her hands up. "Whose bright idea was this? Or am I allowed to know?"

"There have been concerns about your safety, my lady. It was decided it would be best if you were to stay here," Erlina remained calm.

Maebh began to pace. "I see you haven't deigned to tell me who precisely _is_ concerned. I can't believe him. And the others?" she turned back to Erlina.

"The other Wardens, my lady? They are to stay at the Headquarters."

"Absolutely not!" she exploded, balling her hands into fists. "Ghislaine is my attendant and... and if my safety is at risk then obviously so is Loghain's and... and Renaud cannot stay there alone. No, if I am to stay here, then they are to stay here, and you can tell him that I will not budge on this," she wagged a finger in Erlina's face, emphasizing each point.

"Do you mean to say 'tell her', my lady?" Erlina asked, composure not even cracked.

"Him, her, the royal We, whatever they're calling it I know who's idea this was and I want no part of it," she fumed, resuming her pacing. "I assume I will be housed in the same quarters I was the last time I was here?"

"But of course, Her Majesty believed you would be most comfortable there. And, my lady, I was asked to provide you with a schedule of events for the rest of the week. Tomorrow you are to be fitted for your ball gown."

Maebh slumped, too tired to fight anymore. "Of course I will. If anybody needs me, I'll be in my rooms."

She turned on her heel and left Renaud and Erlina glaring at each other. She didn't care enough to ask why.

* * *

Maebh tossed and turned under the fine coverlet, drips of information invading her consciousness that led only to confusion. Where was her wool blanket? Why was the sun streaming in on her with such insistence? Who was knocking on the door?

She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the light. Oh Maker. Denerim. She was back in Denerim. Nothing good ever happened in Denerim. She slowly crawled out of bed and pulled on a robe. Her body ached, culminating in an pounding head and a fuzzy mouth. How much did she have to drink last night, anyway? She tried to remember but lost count halfway through second bottle of wine before dinner.

The knocking resumed. "Hold on," she grumbled, trying to gather the tattered edges of her will. This was intolerable. Why had she not paid more attention in Healing lessons? "What is it," she rubbed her eyes again as she opened the door.

"I brought you tea, with that honey you like," Alistair grinned sheepishly at her, holding out his peace offering.

She sighed and leaned against the door frame. "What are you doing," she asked, shaking her head slightly.

"Please, Maebh," he leaned closer and whispered. "Don't embarrass me in front of them?" He jerked his head back at the scurrying servants and impassive guards.

"Fine," she grumbled and admitted him into her chambers. "What is this about, anyway?"

"I just wanted to apologize for being such an ass yesterday. I guess I was just so excited that you were finally here that I didn't really think about how you might not have felt the same way." He sat down on the easy chair by the fire, looking glum.

Maebh's heart ached in her chest to see him so downcast. "I _am_ excited to see you, Alistair. I just...," she sighed and went to him. "I had just had an argument with Father right before you came in."

He hugged her around her waist and leaned his head against her chest. "I miss you," he said forlornly. "Nobody gets my jokes around here."

She ran her fingers through his hair, marveling at how the curls sprang back into shape. "I don't get your jokes, either."

"You're right, my mistake. It was Wynne who would laugh at my jokes. I always get you two mixed up."

"So all mages look alike, is it," she teased.

"Something like that," he grinned.

"Morrigan, too," she needled, fighting her own grin.

"No no no no," he patted her on the bottom. "Bad girl. Morrigan is a terrible, cruel, lying, apostate, sneaky witch thief and thus not in the pantheon of wonderful, beautiful, kind, and trustworthy mages whom I love and adore."

Maebh began to feel ill as he pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck. "Morrrigan isn't all bad, you know."

"Oh yes the two of you were the best of friends I'm sure she had her good points," he conceded so quickly she knew he was just trying to avoid an argument.

She wriggled out of his grasp and to her feet and snatched up the mug of tea. "So, what's on the agenda for today. I seem to recall somebody mentioning a gown fitting..."

Alistair groaned. "Oh, don't remind me. The clothes, the never ending parade of clothes. Anora doesn't understand me, but you do, don't you? I've been handed uniforms my entire life! I cannot just become instantly interested in these things!" He slapped his hands on his knees, exasperated.

"Sounds like an argument you've had before," she pointed out, feeling sympathetic.

He shook his head. "It's like she just expects me to be Cailan with a haircut! Sometimes, anyway. I don't know, maybe you can get through to her."

She stared at him over the rim of her mug as she sipped slowly. "Are you serious," she asked finally, lowering the mug. "She's probably still livid from last night. I doubt she's going to speak to me the rest of the time I'm here."

He frowned and stared into the fire.

"You should go," she said, handing him the now-empty mug. "I have much to do today and little enough time to do it."

* * *

The gown fitting was an even bigger nightmare than she ever imagined. She offered prayers of gratitude to any deity willing to listen that she had thought to finish healing her hangover before she had gone to the solar where the Event was taking place, or she was sure she would have vomited on one of the seamstresses' heads.

Ghislaine served her duty of attendant admirably, sitting to the side and fetching water, taking dictation, reciting poetry, telling funny stories, or anything else Maebh required of her in order to keep from going mad. Maebh, for her part, was imprisoned on an odd pedestal and shackled in gown after gown, the seamstresses tutting over color, fit, and fabric until Maebh just wanted to set them all on fire and run screaming into the forest.

"I don't understand," she exploded as they brought out yet another gown, the fifth of the day. This one was deep green velvet trimmed in creamy white lace and embroidered with white flowers. "How many gowns can I be expected to wear to one ball?"

"My lady," one of the braver seamstresses spoke up, "we were told to fit you for enough gowns for the entire celebration. This is to be your parade gown."

"My para-," she boggled, mouth agape, "how many different events are there going to be, exactly?"

The seamstresses exchanged _looks_ and Maebh began to feel ill. "Commander," Ghislaine piped up. "Perhaps I can go find an order of events and read it to you?"

"Yes," Maebh responded, slowly, trying to keep calm. "That is a good idea."

Ghislaine returned not long after with a scroll that was entirely too long for Maebh's comfort. She cleared her throat. "After the gown fitting, Commander, you are to wear the first one you tried on, yes, the pink silk with the ivory ribbon, to the formal reception." She looked over the scroll at her, "The guests have already begun to arrive, you see. The Empress' ship is due before noon and the Keeper Lanaya and her Aravel not long after. Most of the others are already here."

"Empress," Maebh yelped as one of the seamstresses pricked her with a needle, "Watch yourself if you please."

"_Oui_, the Empress, the Antivan Royal family, an emissary from the Arishok, the Revered Mother, the list of attendees is quite illustrious."

Maebh's hands grew clammy, she tried to wipe them on the gown she was wearing, a cloudy grey silk, but one of the seamstresses snatched her hands and wiped them with a cloth. "Please, my lady, you will stain the fabric."

"Isn't this supposed to be my breakfast gown or something?"

"Commander," Ghislaine picked up a sheaf of papers and quickly scanned it, "I apologize, but that is to be your tea gown the day after tomorrow."

"This is my nightmare," she groaned. "Forget the Deep Roads. I wish I was there right now. This is my nightmare."

Ghislaine cleared her throat and continued, "Tomorrow there will be the parade, followed by an intimate feast with only the most honored guests, the King and Queen, Loghain, and yourself."

"Wait, you and Renaud won't be there?" Maebh stumbled a bit as one of the seamstresses grabbed her by the waist and turned her sharply.

"_Non_, Commander. We are … not welcome at the intimate feast."

Maebh looked about wildly. The solar, which had seemed so gracious and open, was closing in on her like a tomb.

"The day after the parade, Commander," Ghislaine continued inexorably, "Is the first day of the tournament. You are to be one of the spectators of honor and-"

"Get Nora," Maebh interrupted. "I don't care what you have to do to get her in here but you get Nora in here as fast as you can, Ghislaine."

"_Oui_, Commander."

Maebh was being fitted for her second day tournament gown, a deep blue wool with gold trim and bell sleeves that apparently were extremely difficult to fit to her thin arms when Anora arrived, followed by her own entourage of seamstresses and servants. "You needed something of me, Warden?" Her tone was as icy-calm as ever, she was perfectly composed. But Maebh knew, "Warden" meant that Anora was angry with her.

She attempted to be conciliatory. "Please, don't make me do this. I'm sorry I threw a fit at dinner, I was tired I had too much to drink just please, please don't make me do this."

"Do what, Warden," Anora asked coolly, stepping onto her own pedestal as the seamstresses began to flutter about her.

"All these events, all these people they're all going to want to talk to me and I can't bear it I just can't, Nora, please don't make me." Maebh began to tremble.

Anora appraised her, arching an eyebrow. "Alistair frequently tells me that you are the most courageous woman he has ever met, and yet you tremble at the prospect of meeting well-wishers and star-struck fans. How curious."

"I just don't like attention is all," she said sullenly, feeling peevish and small.

"Really?" Anora sounded astonished. "Now that is curious, as I seem to recall word of somebody matching your description getting into a screaming match with a portrait the late King Maric. Unusual behavior for one who wishes to avoid attention."

Maebh winced. "I was drunk. And you provoked me! Calling me _maleficar_, of all the nonsense..."

"Yes, well," Anora cleared her throat and looked to the side. "I feel I should apologize for that."

"I am no blood mage-" Maebh exploded before the full weight of Anora's words penetrated fully. "Wait, you _what_?"

She resumed her perfect posture and cool gaze. "I know how sensitive you can be about such things, Maybe, and that is why I said it. I intended to hurt you, and that was small of me. I apologize."

Maebh was struck dumb, and then stuck with another pin and yelped. "Th-thank you," she swallowed.

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, you cannot skip any of the festivities."

"But!"

"I'm sorry, Maybe, it is quite impossible. You may have one of your Orlesians with you at all times if that makes you more comfortable. But you simply must attend_ all_ of the events." Anora remained completely unmoved by her pleas.

Feeling desperate, Maebh began to cast about for objections. "I thought this was just going to be a ball, when were all these additional events added?"

Anora turned slightly to allow a seamstress greater access to her bodice, and regarded herself in a mirror. "You were sent a full program of events over a month ago, Maybe, nothing has been added." She looked back at her. "You did read it, didn't you?"

"Oh, of course," she lied lamely as the laces on her own bodice were tightened.

Anora arched an eyebrow at her.

Maebh decided to change tactics. "But I thought the treasury was... not doing very well." Loghain had told her it was strapped, but saying as much seemed unwise. "Are we not going to a great deal of expense? Surely I could make do with one or two gowns, not twenty!"

Anora turned back to her. "Maybe, you are a legendary figure. You have influence far beyond what you know. In the past year the cost of black hair dye alone has increased tenfold. We levied an additional tax and made quite a bit of money. Every article of clothing you will be wearing for the next week will be Fereldan made. You're going to make the people, and the crown, a fortune."

Maebh scowled.

"Don't be like that," Anora chided. "Think of it this way. You're only doing what you've always done: your duty. Now, if there was nothing else," Anora gathered her skirts, her attendants fluttering like butterflies.

Guilt twisted in Maebh's heart. It was time to come clean. "Alistair came to my room this morning," she blurted.

Anora froze, her attendants' faces perfectly still, and none of them looking at either sister. The only sound was Ghislaine muttering, "..._salaud sot_..."

"I mean," and Maebh realized what a terrible blunder she had just committed. "I … I threw him out and... then..."

"Why would you feel the need to inform me of such a thing," Anora did not turn to look at her. "Any two such comrades would relish the opportunity to catch up on old times." A tinge of bitterness crept into her tone. "Forgive me, Warden, but I have work to do."

And she was gone.

Maebh turned to look at Ghislaine. "I really screwed that up, didn't I?"

"No, of course..." she tried. "Well, yes. Yes, you did. But it was a start, _non_?"

She sighed as the seamstresses stripped her of her tourney attire and prepared to fit the final piece. The ball gown.


	14. Wolves

A/N Back to the once-a-month update schedule. I'm doing the best I can, guys. Real life is being... very real right now, lol. No problems, just a lot to do. PS. A million thanks to Emynii for filling in for my usual betas. You're the best!

* * *

An inexplicable, light feeling floated through Maebh like a bubble as she made her way from her quarters to the hall she was supposed to have reported to nearly an hour ago. Maybe the reception wouldn't be so bad. It could hardly be worse than when Alistair came to greet her at the headquarters. Or the dinner. Or the dress fitting. She tripped on her hem and cursed. The gown was lovely, if difficult to manage after weeks of wearing Tevinter-style attire out on the road. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she had to admit that the peachy pink silk highlighted a glow in her skin that she hadn't ever noticed before. Ghislaine had curled and arranged her hair, pinning it behind one ear and guiding it to flow over her opposite shoulder. It looked shiny and thick and full and Maebh found herself brushing a few fingers against her chin to make sure it was actually _herself_ she was seeing in the mirror.

"Commander," trilled Ghislaine as she slipped her arm around Maebh's. "We are already late to the reception. Come, come, you cannot disappoint them!"

Maebh sighed and allowed herself to be led into the hall where the reception was being held. It was situated facing to the northwest, which was clever of Anora. Daylight was already growing short, so late in the autumn. This particular room caught every last ray of sunshine, providing light and heat that limited the need for smokey torches and inefficient fires. Instead, the afternoon sun streamed in blocks of gold, spreading across the floor in perfect rhombi, marked by the shadow cast by the panes. The garden just outside blazed with color from the autumn leaves, golds and reds and yellows and oranges broken by the occasional deep blue-green of a pine. Maebh knew that outside the air would be cool and crisp and sweet as an apple.

But she could not go outside. Not with this throng of people falling under an appalling hush as Ghislaine ushered her to the slightly raised dias where Anora and Alistair were greeting the guests. Depositing her just to Alistair's left, Ghislaine tutted over her hair and arranged her skirts. "There you are, Commander. Your Majesties," Ghislaine nodded at the two monarchs before melting into the crowd.

Maebh looked about wildly, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Her earlier feelings of satisfaction at her own appearance evaporated when standing next to them. They wore complementary attire, Anora in ivory silk embroidered with pink flowers and green vines, Alistair in a linen doublet with similar detailing. They glowed in the late afternoon sun. Maebh shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, wondering if her gown was tailored in the back so as to cover the worst of her scars.

"Just smile and be pleasant, and try to remember their names," Alistair murmured to her, patting her arm.

She nearly jerked away, but stopped herself just in time. Anora barely acknowledged her presence. Alistair looked uncomfortable between the two of them. Maebh tried to think of _anything_ to say. She scanned the crowd briefly. Ghislaine had completely disappeared, most likely to get dressed. Renaud was circulating, stopping to chat occasionally with people Maebh did not recognize. She concluded they must have recognized him by the Grey Warden insignia on his doublet. It occurred to Maebh that the grey doublet with black trim looked especially attractive on him, though he looked angry for some reason, and wouldn't come close enough for her to summon him over. And Loghain was nowhere to be seen. "Why isn't Father here?" she asked.

This elicited a reaction in Anora. She flicked her gaze over, irritable. "Because there are going to be a number of people still dealing with the aftermath from the civil war. I thought it be best if he made himself scarce for most of this. Hello, Bann Alfstanna," she greeted the woman warmly, and proceeded to exchange pleasantries.

Alfstanna. Why did she remember her? A sudden thought occurred to her. A memory of a broken man, babbling in a cell. "Bann Alfstanna!" she said excitedly. "How is Irminric?"

Anora turned on her, eyes wide, "Bann, please excuse my-"

Alistair took a deep breath, "Of course, what she _meant _to say was-"

Maebh began to feel panicky, and consciously kept her focus in the room and not outside in the garden with the peacefully rustling trees and apple-sweet air.

Alfstanna, for her part, smiled widely. "My Lady, he will be so touched to know of your concern!"

Anora and Alistair exchanged glances. "So," Alistair cleared his throat. "He's … doing well?"

With her smile turning a bit sad, Alfstanna nodded. "Better than he was, thank the Maker. And much better than he would have, had he been left much longer."

"Oh, well, I just..." The memories swirled and flowed together. Irminric, Cullen, the soldiers of the divine holding the sword to her throat, tortured and tormented and imprisoned as much as she and the others like her. She hated them as much as she loved them. "I couldn't bear to leave him like that."

Her eyes shining with tears, Alfstanna took one of Maebh's hands in both of hers. "The Waking Sea owes a great debt to you, your family, and your order, my lady. I only wish there were some way I could repay you adequately." She turned to the others. "By your leave," and she made her way for the next guest before Maebh could respond.

"Bann Ceorlic," Anora greeted the next guest with a restrained courtliness.

Alistair leaned close. "Be careful about references to the war and the Landsmeet," he whispered, and Maebh blushed as his breath flowed hot on her neck. "You were lucky that time, but remember that a lot of these people-" He turned and nodded at Ceorlic, who in turn barely acknowledged Maebh before moving on. "People like _him_, for instance, still aren't pleased about the way you handled things."

"But I just-" she began to protest, but was distracted by and odd draught of a breeze against her right hand. "What was that?" She turned to the side.

"How did you get in here?" Alistair burst out angrily, and Maebh turned back to see a marvelously familiar person cutting a dashing figure in front of the dias.

"Zevran!" she squealed, jumping down from the dias and throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh, it's so _good_ to see you!"

"Oh, but my little bird, you must be contain yourself! Though, I know that is a difficult task for even my passing acquaintances, let alone one such as you with whom I have a much more, shall we say, _intimate_ relationship." He grinned and Maebh giggled, feeling the panic subside in the face of his cheerful impudence.

"Get out," Anora ordered. "Get out before I have you clapped in chains and sent to the tower."

"Absolutely not!" Maebh cried, clinging to him protectively. "Are you out of your mind? Alistair, why are you acting like this? Zev is our _friend_!"

"Your Majesties, please," Zevran protested, reaching into his doublet with his free hand, the other remaining draped around Maebh's waist. "Though I may be the basest of those born, I very rarely forget my manners." He produced a lovely little bit of paper, bound with a ribbon. "Or is this not an invitation to this very event?"

"Let me see that," Alistair snatched the invitation and scowled at it.

"Perhaps you would like to join me in a turn about the garden, my darling Maebh," Zevran turned her away and began to move her toward the door.

"I'm not sure," she looked back at them, and saw Alistair's face turning a disturbing shade of red. "They're already angry at me for... a lot of things. But most recently because I was late to the reception."

"I am most certain that the royal duo can spare you for a few minutes," he patted her arm reassuringly. "And you look so pale, my lovely, a few moments outside should leave you feeling quite refreshed."

And they ducked out before the guards could stop them.

* * *

Maebh closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, inhaling deeply. The air rushed into her lungs, clear and cold, the sun warmed her gently. "I hate being inside," she sighed.

"Cages are for songbirds, parrots and doves, _mi amora_." Zevran brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "And while falcons may be the playthings of kings, they are rarely permitted in the palace."

Maebh scowled. "What are you getting at?"

Zevran laughed. "Court has never been the place for you. But, why am I wasting breath explaining things you already know, when we could be wasting breath in much more pleasant an exercise?" He unhooked the half-cape from his shoulder and draped across a bench before gesturing for her to sit.

She sat down awkwardly, trying to keep all the skirts and ribbon and sleeves from tangling or wrinkling. "So what does bring you here, after all? I apologize for their reaction. You know I had nothing to do with planning this thing." She felt a rising frustration. Anora, she could understand. She had never known the man and he was an _assassin_, after all. But how could Alistair have reacted in such a way?

He waved his hand dismissively. "I do not take such things personally. People like your honored sister and," he paused a moment thinking, "her husband often feel awkward when trying to interact with somebody such as myself outside of official business."

"I suppose," she smoothed her skirts in front of her. "Still, Alistair is your friend."

Zevran's smile was twinged with a bit of sadness. "Maebh, it's not so simple as that. Have they told you what happened while you were in Ostagar?"

Ostagar. Maebh closed her eyes again. No. No more tears for Cailan. "Maybe? Probably? I haven't..." A pile of unopened correspondence on her desk. A never-ending task list that never seemed to decrease. Peace found only on the daily rides, on the practice field. "I've had difficulty concentrating these past few weeks," she admitted softly.

"While you were gone, Anora and Alistair uncovered several disturbing conspiracies." Zevran handed her his handkerchief. Maebh twisted it in her hands, refusing to acknowledge the tears that had sprung to her eyes but not yet fallen. His smile gone, he spoke plainly. "The vast majority of the people attending this celebration are well-wishers, fans, or simply people trying to gain some sort of political clout or perhaps make some profit off of the many visitors. However," Zevran's tone turned deadly serious and Maebh shivered a bit, though the sun was still shining bright. "There are a number of people to whom your continued existence is a bane. Perhaps they wish to have revenge for perceived insults or injuries. Perhaps the thought of a mage gaining such power and influence offends them. Perhaps they have no quarrel with you, but wish to cause the former Teyrn grief. Or perhaps they simply want to reveal Ferelden and the monarchy as weak and ineffectual. What better way than to murder the queen's sister, king's lover, and hero to the nation during a celebration in her honor?"

"Are you talking about assassination?" Maebh hissed. "But Master Ignacio _assured_ me-"

"Pah," Zevran scoffed. "Ignacio. He has not half the influence he claims. No, Maebh, the Crows are not responding to scrolls with your name on them, regardless of the amount offered. But, if I may be so bold, that is _my _doing, not his."

"I don't understand," she wrinkled her brow, trying to work it out. "If the Crows aren't after me, what do I have to worry about?"

Zevran burst out in a delighted laugh. "How can one know you and _not_ simply adore you, I wonder?" He patted her hand affectionately. "Yes, while the Crows are the best assassin's guild, does it not follow that there are other guilds as well? Guilds eager to make a name for themselves, spreading baseless rumors that the true reason we will not accept these contracts is not because of loyalty or respect, but because we are afraid. And if one of these other guilds are successful in their goals for this celebration, they will become quite sought after, indeed."

"So that really was why they moved me to the palace?" she felt stunned.

"Oh, but of course. I recommended it myself." He stood and offered her his hand.

"Recommended it? To who?" Her head spun. Ogres were so much easier to deal with.

"To the royal couple. Once they discovered the second plot, they sought my advice on the best way to proceed," he answered glibly. "However, we have to keep up appearances, you understand. Try not to be alarmed at what happens next." He opened the door leading back to the reception and was immediately clapped in irons.

"Zevran!" Maebh clapped her hands to her mouth in dismay. "What is going on!" She whirled on Alistair.

He strode down the stairs, waving the invitation angrily. "This isn't even addressed to you, Crow. This is addressed to Donna Laurenza Madera. And where is the honored lady, I wonder? Does she even still live?"

"Your Majesty, I assure you, when I left the good lady she had merely died a little death. After I departed from the villa?" he shrugged dismissively. "I cannot be held responsible for that, now can I."

Anora's jaw set. "You presented yourself as one who had received an invitation. Yet this is clearly addressed to somebody else."

Zevran grinned cheekily. "Received, intercepted, this common tongue is so clumsy," he tutted.

Anora crossed her arms. "Take him away," she ordered. "He is here under false pretenses."

"To the tower? Are you mad? Alistair, stop this!" Maebh darted for the dias and tripped on her hem, falling to her knees.

A gasp rose from the crowd and Maebh began to struggle to her feet and then thought better of it. She knew how to work a crowd, too. "Please," she clasped her hands together in front of her and worked up a few tears. "I-

"You may visit him in his cell, Warden," Alistair looked down his nose at her. And even though she knew it was all pretend, she couldn't help the icy feeling that stole through her veins at the hard look he gave her.

Maebh looked over her shoulder forlornly at the guards half-leading, half-dragging Zevran away. Twisting his handkerchief in her hands, she tried to think of a graceful way out of the position she was in.

"The Guerrins have arrived," Anora murmured to Alistair, just loud enough for Maebh to hear.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair replied, barely moving his lips. "I need to talk to Eamon about something."

No, not Eamon. Anybody but Eamon. Maebh leapt to her feet. "Forgive me, Your Majesties. I... I am quite overcome," she stammered and ran out of the room.

* * *

It did not take her long to find the anteroom where Loghain was spending the day, entertaining the few well-wishers who wanted to see him.

It was a pitifully small gathering. A quick scan of the room revealed Bann Ceorlic and Ser Cauthrien and a handful of other men, at least as old as Loghain and all with military bearing. Maebh stood up straight and smoothed her skirts, mentally cursing herself at the dirt that had already stained the dress from when she fell to her knees. Loghain was seated by the fire, facing the door, with Cauthrien standing at his right hand and his other friends gathered about him in a way that reminded Maebh of a military formation. Specifically, a defensive one.

They were all looking at her, silent. She cleared her throat. "Father, I was not aware you would not be attending the reception."

"Maybe," he greeted her, and she approached him. His retinue parted to admit her, and even Cauthrien stepped aside, her expression neutral, if a bit downcast. "I heard you were late. And you've already left?"

She scowled and flopped down on an ottoman next to his chair. "I don't like everybody looking at me," she said quietly, studying her lap.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loghain wave his hand. The others drifted away and started up side conversations. Maebh felt the knot of tension in her shoulder ease slightly. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, voice stern. "You're going to have to get used to being the center of attention, you know. This is hardly the last time you'll be called upon to make a public appearance."

Maebh looked up and saw how his eyes did not match his tone. He looked at her with an expression of kindness, even softness. "But Eamon just arrived, Father. How can I stand there and pretend that I like him while I'm standing next to Nora and I _know_ what he was trying to do? I can't. I just can't do it." She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "Oh, and Zevran said that there are people trying to kill me." She sighed.

Loghain chuckled. "When _aren't_ people trying to kill you, I wonder."

"You do have guards around, don't you? If anybody's out for revenge they might try to go after you as well," Maebh scanned the room again.

"I don't require guards," Loghain replied proudly. "All of the people here served with me on one campaign or another. I trust them with my life, not only by their loyalty but also by their skill with a blade. A guard would just be another weak spot to exploit for anybody with enough coin and a score to settle."

Maebh rubbed a spot between her eyes that had begun to throb. "If you say so."

"Would you like to test us, Warden?" Cauthrien challenged. "I seem to recall defeating you in hand-to-hand combat once before."

The knot returned and Maebh rolled her eyes. "No, don't be ridiculous." She fidgeted.

"Is there something else you needed?" Loghain thrummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "And sit up straight, you're wrinkling your gown."

"I just don't want to go back in there!" she exploded. "Everything I do is wrong! Half of them hate me and I don't know why. The other half think they love me but they don't even know who I am. Anora and Alistair keep criticizing me, Ghislaine has disappeared, Renaud is angry about something and they arrested Zevran."

"Has anybody drawn a blade yet?" His tone was dismissive, and he did not wait for an answer. "It's already better than most parties I've attended at this palace. Now, get up and get back in there. It's only a few more hours."

"But what about Eamon!" she protested, her stomach turning at the idea of pretending to have warm feelings toward the man.

Loghain half-smiled. "Pretend you're still an apprentice at the Tower, and he's the senior enchanter who turned you in for accepting olives from that Templar boy."

Maebh snorted. "I hardly think composing insulting couplets about the Chancellor is appropriate behavior at such an event."

"You do that, too?" Loghain asked, dumbfounded. "Astonishing. That was always my favorite method of enduring interminable royal obligations."

"Yes, well," Maebh rose to leave. "I probably shouldn't recite the ones I composed in your honor, then."

* * *

She paused a moment outside the door to the hall. What would be the least awkward way to reenter the celebration? She concluded that the best course of action would be to walk in like nothing odd had happened.

To her everlasting relief, it worked. She made her way to the dias, smiling and nodding at people she recognized and a few that she didn't, but appeared to know who she was. On the other side of the room she spied Irving and Greagoir, and she longed to go to them. But going to them would mean forcing her way through the crowd, which had grown so much more in number and boisterousness since she had left. Her courage failed her and she stopped at the dias in the center. "When did the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arrive?" she asked Alistair as she straightened her skirts, taking care to keep her tone casual.

"Just a few minutes after you left." He turned and narrowed his eyes. "They have a Ser Cullen with them. He's not quite right in the head, is he?"

"Cullen!" She said so loudly that Anora turned.

"Control yourself, Warden," she ordered.

"But, Nora, I have to-" What could have possibly possessed them to bring _Cullen _to such an event. It was madness. She started down the steps.

"Alistair!" snapped Anora, and he grabbed Maebh by the arm.

"What are you _doing_?" Maebh struggled against his grasp. "Let me go!"

"The Empress is about to arrive, Warden, you will stay here with us. You can go talk to your little _dalliance_ afterwards." Anora's tone was granite, though she smiled sweetly.

"But I don't _want_ to." She had left at the wrong time, there was no way she could weasel her way out of this. The image of the Empress' affectionate letters to Cailan arose in her mind's eye and she clenched her fists. "Control yourself," she muttered, consciously dissipating her will. She took a few deep breaths. She could do this. Hadn't she endured worse back in the Circle Tower? It was just a simple greeting, not a heart-to-heart. Holding her head high, she returned to her spot on the dias. She would behave herself. Anora and Alistair had nothing to fear from her.

She yanked her arm out of Alistair's hand. "I don't see why I'm so important. She doesn't even know me." She sulked, scanning the crowd again. Renaud was in a heated conversation with Erlina and a few other servants.

Anora's smile became the slightest bit strained. "I really do not have the time or resources to adequately explain international diplomacy to you at this particular moment, Maybe. Rest assured that your presence here, right now, is very important."

"Just try not to say anything too embarrassing," Alistair sighed as the doors opened and the Empress entered.

Empress Celene I of the Orlesian Empire was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She was not so tall as Maebh, or even Anora. Perfectly proportioned, she moved with a grace that made Anora look like a farmer, and Maebh the ox. In fact, with the way her skirts floated in front of her, and the way she seemed to hover instead of walk, Maebh was not entirely certain that the Empress actually had feet at all.

Her gown was a deep sunset orange silk, and hugged her perfect figure, as smooth as cream. Her hair, a glossy chocolate brown, was pulled up and then cascaded down her back in a ripple of ringlet curls. She smiled warmly at Anora as she reached the dias, holding her arms out to her, bell sleeves reaching half-way to the floor. "Oh, my darling," she enthused. "How long has it been since we have been together?"

Anora returned the smile and embraced the Empress. Maebh bit her tongue, and Alistair shifted uncomfortably as the two women began to converse in Orlesian. The Empress glanced in his direction and giggled, revealing charming dimples and warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Control yourself," Maebh repeated to herself, again releasing her will.

"And Your Majesty, may I say what a joy it is to meet you. Though, I wish we had met under more pleasant conditions." She lifted a hand to Alistair, who took it and kissed her knuckles gallantly. She sighed and pressed her other hand to her cheek. "Your late brother was more than an ally, he was a dear friend," she said mournfully, tears shining in her eyes.

"Yes," Alistair answered, turning slightly pink. "He was... well-loved."

"But I am grateful the Maker saw fit to bless my darling Anora with a man such as yourself, King Alistair, to help her in her time of grief. And!" she turned to Maebh, eyes widening with awe. Maebh realized she was grimacing and smoothed her expression. "How the Maker sees fit to bless us with such great joy in the midst of such dark grief! Here is the sister long thought dead, not only resurrected but capable of such heroics in such a dire time of need! Warden, I consider myself truly blessed to have met you." The Empress placed a hand against her breast and bowed her head reverently.

The entire hall had fallen silent. The eyes stabbed into her like hundreds of pins. She shook it off, this wasn't nearly as bad as the Landsmeet. Nobody expected her to commit patricide, at least. "Thank you, Your Eminence. And I also would like to extend my thanks on the behalf of the Grey Wardens, as well as the rest of Ferelden, for the aid Orlais provided to us since the Blight. And also for the actions of Brother Riordan at the Battle of Denerim, during which he made the ultimate sacrifice."

The Empress looked up at her, and for an moment her gaze was piercing; a razor-sharp look of intelligence that dissected her in an instant before returning to the warm congeniality of before. "Thank you for your lovely words, Warden." She smiled one more time at the three of them. "Well, I suppose I should allow you to see to your other guests. Anora, please, we must take some time to chat, just the two of us! I have not seen you in so long."

"Of course, Celene," Anora smiled back as Celene took her leave. As soon as the Empress was out of earshot, Anora turned to Maebh with an appraising look. "Well, you certainly gathered your wits quickly."

"I wasn't raised by wolves, you know." Maebh crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes."Are there any other guests I have to be here to meet, or can I go talk to my _actual friends_."

"No," Anora turned away, chin jutting slightly. "We all have to do this. Together. You'll have time to talk to them later."

Maebh glanced out the window and saw that the sun was surely setting. The air would be getting colder, sharper, cleaner. Every nerve and synapse firing to keep warm while awake, sound sleep found under the stars on the cold ground and under the sky shimmering with stars. Inside, the odor from too many bodies in too small a space made her feel as if she were smothering. The doors opened, and a breath of cooler air made its way to her face and she inhaled eagerly.

"Ah, the king and queen of Antiva," Alistair identified them for her. "I'm impressed, I wasn't expecting them to make it here alive." He turned to Anora. "Would you like to make a wager with me, my love, as to whether or not they manage to survive the entire celebration?"

Anora glanced down briefly as a grin ghosted across her face.

"Whose idea was it to make this an international affair anyway," Maebh asked, as if it were a matter of simple, casual curiosity as the monarchs made their way to the dias.

"Chancellor Eamon, actually," Anora replied. "Though I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed in myself that I hadn't thought of it first. It is an excellent opportunity to hammer out trade agreements and forge stronger diplomatic relationships."

"Yes. An excellent opportunity," Maebh agreed blandly.

Eamon.

That settled it.

She was going to kill Eamon.


	15. Into the Dark

Sneaking did not come naturally to Maebh. It had nothing to do with an aversion to deception, for she could certainly lie well enough when the situation called for it. It was more because whenever she tried to be covert, her mind raged at her for skulking about rather than simply charging in and solving the problem. The looming demands of a seemingly unsolved problem overwhelmed her with impatience.

She pulled the collar of her cloak higher and pressed into the shadows. Maebh knew she could fight her way into and back out of the tower, she had done it once before after all. The problem this time was that if anybody saw her, there would surely be talk. The kind of talk that would make Anora angry. Maebh felt she had enough of being the focus of her sister's ire as of late, so better to let somebody else take the spotlight for a while.

Carefully, she wove a soft spell of drowsiness over the guard. Back during the Blight, she and her companions were technically at war with the monarchy, thus men in its employ were fair game. The civil war was an easier time, if only in that regard. As soon as the guard started to nod off she darted past him, hurrying down the hall to the cell where Zevran was being kept.

"Psst," she hissed softly, pulling a key from her sleeve. "Zev, wake up."

Zevran turned over and smiled. "Ah, _mi amora_, you have come to offer succor to the imprisoned? I did not think Ferelden would be so... open-minded."

Slowly, she eased the door open. "Stop it. I'm here to get you out."

He laughed softly. "No, no, you have it all wrong! Why don't you come in here with me? Be sure to close the door behind you, we do not want to be interrupted."

She eyed him warily, but in the end did as he requested, feeling utterly lost. "Zevran, what's going on?. What is this all about?"

He patted the straw mattress next to him. Maebh sat down gingerly on the edge, remembering how Fort Draken had a flea problem the last time she had been here.

"Remember how I told you that there were people trying to kill you? This whole farce is part of our plan to actually thwart those attempts."

Maebh rubbed her temples. "You need to explain this to me, starting at the beginning."

He sighed and slung an arm across her shoulders. "You see, my Warden, I took every precaution to remain unseen while in the city. But, as capable as I am, I could not be sure that I made no mistakes. If my whereabouts where to be made known, then it is possible that the wretches would bide their time until you truly were unprotected. Hence, the little mummer's show you were just treated to. The hope is, those wishing you ill will now be so emboldened as to attack during the festivities, and we will be able to root them out from the source."

Maebh jumped to her feet and began pacing, irritable. "Has it ever occurred to any of you that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself? I've fought off assassins, as you well know!. I bested Father in hand-to-hand combat. Oh, and let's not forget that pesky little abomination known as the Archdemon. I don't actually _need_ your help, Zevran. Or the help of anybody else for that matter."

"Of course not, my little bird," Zevran purred as he stood, joining her on the far side of the small cell. "Undoubtedly, you are far more of a deadly sex goddess than I ever would have dreamed upon first meeting you. A master on the battlefield, and if I may be so bold as to speculate, a master in the bedchamber as well." Maebh glared at him, but Zevran only grinned wickedly in response. "But," he continued, "you know, it may just be that your sister and I might have a bit more knowledge as to how to handle these more delicate matters, especially when there are so many, shall we say, innocent observers?"

Maebh crossed her arms, scowling even deeper. "Perhaps."

He chuckled softly and returned to the straw. "Now! Why don't you come back here, and we can while away the hours reminiscing of simpler times, yes?"

She continued to pace. "Zevran, I have need of your services."

"My darling, I thought that's why you came!" He grinned and stretched, making a show of clearing space for her on the sleeping pallet.

"Not _those_ kinds of services!" She waved her hands, exasperated. "The kind where you kill people, on purpose, without anybody knowing how or why."

"Really," he drawled, just the slightest bit of serious interest slipping into his tone. "And who, if I may yet again be so bold, would you wish to be receiving of these services?"

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Chancellor Eamon Guerrin."

Zevran went totally still, and Maebh shivered in the sudden, ominous quiet. "For the right price, anyone can die, just say the word. But please, Maebh, just between us friends. Why would you ask such a thing of me?"

She knelt beside the cot and took his hand in both of hers. "Because you are one of my dearest and closest friends as well as the best assassin I've ever met. Eamon deserves to die, and you are the only one I would trust with this task."

He yanked his hand away. "If that were true, you would know I am no executioner."

"No, of course you aren't," she replied, fingers curling into fists. "That's why I'm asking you how much it would _cost_."

He sat up, and his curiously golden eyes turned hard. "Five hundred sovereigns."

She slammed a fist on the cot, frustrated. "Zev, be serious!"

His jaw set, and looked down at her, eyes boring into hers. "Nothing in this life is more serious than death. Five hundred is my price."

"Zevran-"

"Your sister paid me a great deal of money to ensure that the kind of thing you propose does _not _happen, my darling. And because she paid me so very much, I shall keep this little conversation private. Unless, of course..." She could feel his eyes on her back, even though she refused to turn to look at him, "You decide to take matters into your own hands. At which point the monarchy would have no choice but to throw the Grey Wardens out of Ferelden _again_."

"But you don't know what he did! What he tried to do!" she protested. Eamon _had _to die. Why wouldn't Zevran listen to her?

He held his hands up and turned his face away. "For any lesser amount, I will refuse to hear this. The man is trusted by both the king and queen. His presence at court is a stabilizing one on the country. Do you have any idea how the bannorn would react without this man to back up your commoner sister and her bastard husband?"

"_You're_ the bastard here!" she spat. "I thought I could count on you!"

He shrugged. "Apparently you were only correct in half of those assertions," he replied flippantly.

It took an enormous effort to contain her will, so as not to char Zevran to an exotically perfumed crisp right there on the spot.

"_If_ you can meet my price, and it sounds to me that is a rather large 'if', I will also not accept newly minted coins. All the coins, all five hundred of them, need to have Cailan's face looking back at you. Each and every sovereign-"

"Don't you dare," she gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "Zev, don't you _dare_!"

"_Every single one_," he continued, merciless, "You will look at his face and then hand them over to me and tell me again that you want pay me with those coins to kill his uncle."

Gritting her teeth, Maebh felt the tense energy gathering at the tips of her fingers. She stormed out the cell and slammed the iron door behind her, fairly certain that the sparks she saw fly were not generated by the metal scraping the flagstones.

* * *

"How many more of these do we have to watch?" Maebh demanded irritably as she shifted in her seat.

"There were a total of thirty men at the lists, which means we have seven more matches to go, Commander," Renaud informed her, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned forward.

Maebh groaned inwardly and leaned back, staring at the roof of the tent. It was a sort of yellowy-gold with blue accents, which made the interior look much warmer than it actually was. She made a mental note to thank Anora for dressing her in velvet and wool for the tournament. Today would have been exceptionally uncomfortable were she wearing lighter fabrics. She glanced over to where her sister and the Empress were sitting. Anora was laughing merrily over something Celene was saying as she pointed down at the last two jousters. Alistair tucked a blanket more firmly about her shoulders, and in that moment Maebh realized, with no small surprise, she was completely free of envy at the sight. She was truly and honestly happy for Anora. Eamon was seated on the far side of the row, looking tired, and Isolde sat on the other side of him, looking sad. Maebh wondered how Connor was faring at the tower, and hoped that he was adjusting better than she had.

"Sit up," Loghain reprimanded her, breaking her reverie. "You're wrinkling your gown. And for the Maker's sake ,smile! They're saluting you."

She did as she was bid and sat up straight, smiling and waving until the next pair of jousters drew the attention away from her. "Renaud, explain something to me," she asked as the chevaliers thundered towards each other on their monstrous steeds.

"Hm?" He almost turned his head toward her, though he never took his eyes off the action.

"Why don't they just... dodge?" She winced as they crashed together, lances splintering. The crowd cheered at the sight.

Loghain barked a laugh as Renaud took a deep breath. "Well, you see, Commander..." He trailed off, his attention once again riveted to the field.

"Hm?" Maebh twirled a lock of hair around her finger, wondering how many hours of interminable boredom she would be required to endure for the sake of appearances.

Renaud pumped his fist and grinned as the two jousters crashed again. Both remained seated on their horses, and the crowd cheered even louder this time. "Oh, ah, yes. How to explain... it has to do with the rules of the … honor …"

Loghain laughed again, this time a derisive thing closer to a snort. "Honor. What does a chevalier know of honor? They are simply too pig-headed to admit that they need any defense other than their absurd suits of armor," sneered Loghain.

"As I said, it has to do with honor, Commander. Perhaps that is why my brother Warden is having difficulty with this concept," he said sullenly.

Loghain bristled, and took a deep breath through his nose. Renaud ignored him as the chevalier crashed again, and this time the one in green fell and did not get up again. "_Merde_," cursed Renaud, slumping in his seat.

The three sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments as the green knight was helped off the field. "Oh, look!" burst out Maebh. "They're taking a break or something. Renaud, I would so love to go for a walk." She stood, tugging his arm until he joined her. "Would you care to accompany me?"

"But of course," he replied, straightening his doublet and following her out of the tent.

She ignored the disapproving glare she knew Loghain was searing into the back of her head.

"So, let me see if I understand you thoroughly," Maebh asked as they passed a jester juggling clubs. "You're saying it's possible to slide the lance in such a manner as to knock your opponent's off its mark, all the while keeping your own on target?"

"_Oui_,. It requires a great deal of control and training, and I had believed that Maker-forsaken de Gaspard," Renaud spat the name, tossing a bit of pretzel vehemently, "had fixed that gap in his training."

Maebh mulled this over, nibbling a bit of her own pretzel. "You have a remarkable grasp of the sport. How did you come across such knowledge?"

He laughed and shrugged. "It would seem that my grasp is not so strong as you would think. I lost fifty silver to Ghislaine on that last match!" He laughed again, eyes crinkling. Maebh found herself smiling in spite of herself, and dipped her head so her hair hid her face. "Anyway," he took a deep breath and continued, "as a young man I was squired to a chevalier for a few years. Claude de Moivre."

"You were to be a chevalier then?" she tilted her head. "What happened?"

His expression turned inward. "That story … is not one you want to hear, Maebh."

She was about to voice a protest that, no, that sounded like precisely the sort of story she wanted to hear, when she was interrupted by a call from behind.

"Maebh Mac Tir, as I live and breathe!"

She turned and was engulfed in the arms of Arl Teagan, who proceeded to kiss her on both cheeks. "How are you, my dear dear girl!" he enthused. Maebh resisted curling her nose at the smell of ale on his breath.

"Oh, no complaints, your honor. Renaud and I were just stretching our legs a bit." She blushed as Teagan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It's just that we've been cooped up in there all day-" she began to protest.

"We grow so accustomed to regular exercise when out in the field, you see," Renaud started at the same time, "that once we are on leave it is quite uncomfortable-"

"Please, please," Teagan released her and pulled one of her arms around one of his. "You don't need to explain the … _details,_ to me of all people. So," he began amiably, walking in the same direction they had been headed. "Where are we going?"

Maebh exchanged a glance with Renaud, who shrugged and attempted a blank expression, but she could see the grin tugging at his lips. She took a deep breath. "As a matter of fact, we were headed back to the pavilion to take in the last few matches. Would you... care to join us?" She did her best to sound sincere.

"That is a smashing idea!" Teagan declared. "What a wonderful afternoon we shall have!"

"Yes, wonderful!" Maebh forced a smile, and did her best to think of anything other than her conversation with Zevran regarding Eamon the night before. She was in for a long afternoon.

* * *

The next day was easier. Teagan had claimed toastmaster duties at the intimate feast the night before, and as such the royal tent was much more sparsely populated that morning. Loghain, Maebh, Renaud, Alistair, and Anora were the only ones who had managed to will themselves to attend.

Maebh fussed with the sleeves on her blue gown. They were absurdly long, and she fretted that she was going to accidentally trip on them and make a perfect fool of herself. Again. She made a mental note to ask Anora to explain to her why she couldn't have just worn some clothes that would be remotely comfortable, if only in present company. "So, how does this thing work, exactly? They all fight it out until there's just one left standing?"

"Exactly!" Alistair beamed. "Ah, the grand melee. Are you sure I can't join them, my dear? Grand melees are such _fun_!"

"We talked about this," Anora said, tired but resolute. "It would be as inappropriate as it is dangerous."

"Wait," Maebh said suddenly. "What about me? I could do it! It wouldn't be inappropriate for me to participate!" A good brawl would be so welcome. Enemies should could identify, target, and defeat in short order. Her pulse beat faster just at the thought.

"Absolutely not," Loghain said firmly. "This is an invaluable opportunity for you to see the tide of battle from a bird's-eye view. Besides, they don't let mages participate."

"Oh," she said, feeling suddenly awkward.

"Yes, well," Alistair cleared his throat, trying to break the spell of uncomfortable silence that had descended. "Did you know Maebh, there's a rumor going around that you will be recruiting the victor?"

Maebh snorted. "This is a game. These are children at play! How can I possibly judge aptitude from such an artificial construct?"

Alistair frowned. "Might I remind you that _I_ was recruited at a tournament?"

It was Loghain's turn to snort. "Yes, and we all see how well that turned out."

"It was also how we ended up stuck with Ser Jory, might I remind you," Maebh said quickly, before Alistair had a chance to rise to Loghain's bait.

Alistair began to laugh. "Jory. I'll always remember the look on his face when you put on those Chasind robes. Maker above, I thought he was going to die of apoplexy before we ever got back to camp!"

"It was better than Daveth's reaction," giggled Maebh. "But... the less said about _that_ the better, I think."

"Daveth." Alistair sighed. "He was a good one, if a bit crude. Would have got along swimmingly with Oghren, I imagine."

Maebh smiled. "He was _quick_, too! Wish I had ten like him. I wish I had _one_ like him!"

Anora turned to them, tilting her head quizzically. "Jory? Daveth? I don't know if I've ever heard you mention these men. Were they Wardens as well?"

Alistair shifted his weight as Maebh looked down at her hands, ashamed of mocking her fallen brothers. "Yes," she declared, not looking at Loghain. "They joined with me, and perished at … at Ostagar."

This satisfied Anora, who nodded and smiled sadly at her. Alistair reached and squeezed Maebh's shoulder, and she placed her hand over his to hold it there while she bit back tears.

It wasn't exactly a lie, not really.

Fortunately for all, it was soon time for the melee to start. The contestants lined up, single file, in a ring around the field. Weapons at the ready, they leaned forward like hounds straining against the leash. Their armors ran the gamut of makes and types; suits of studded leather, drakeskin, high dragon hide, veridium, silverite, and volcanic aurum were all on display. Their weapons were a motley assortment as well, some men carrying daggers, swords and shields, some axes and mauls and still others dar'missan or greatswords. More than a few bore the favor of some lady or another.

Maebh's heart beat faster at the sight, and she realized she had begun to gather her will. Embarrassed, she released it. Alistair smiled at her and winked. "Don't worry Maybe, I'll make sure you don't get too excited."

Both Renaud and Loghain turned to stare at Alistair. "Just _what_ is that supposed to-" Loghain began to sputter, until the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the horns announcing the start of the melee.

The fighters charged to the center of the field, and Maebh's spirit soared at the massive clash of steel and muscle. She watched, enraptured, as some fighters formed small companies for short periods of time, enacting small battles-with-the-battle of two on two and three on three and five on five. She saw hulking berserkers wielding massive mauls felled by a fleet-footed dualist, only to watch that same dualist get mowed down with two others like her in one fell swoop by a dual-wielding Templar.

The battle roiled and raged across the width of the tourney field. Maebh longed to be down in the thick of it, testing her strength, reflexes, and wits against the horde of foes all out for their own glory. It was the Proving writ large, in gloriously bold letters of blood and sweat.

"You see that one over there?" Maebh leaned towards Loghain and pointed out a warrior in dragonbone chain. "Watch her. There's something about her I like." The woman's fighting style was unique. She did not try to compensate for her strength disadvantage, but instead used a startling display of dexterity. Her skills were doubly impressive given that she was wearing heavy armor and wielding such a large sword.

Loghain stroked his chin, thoughtful. "She fights like Cauthrien. Well, when I started training her anyway. I could probably train that one, help her get rid of that gap in her swing at any rate."

"You really think she could be as good as Cauthrien?" Maebh asked, amazed. From his point of view, that was the highest praise her father could give anyone's fighting ability, and she knew better than most how stingy he could be in that regard. Loghain simply nodded. She turned back to the fight. "If I could have somebody who fights like Cauthrien, somebody that I could count on to follow my orders, I could start rebuilding the Ferelden Wardens just on her efforts alone." She focused on the woman as the battle continued, the fallen leaving the field either by their own power, or being carried off whenever the tide turned and the healers could get to them.

"You know," she said to Loghain a short while later, "if I was down in there, I would throw a blizzard at the northeast corner. It would paralyze, what, a third of those left standing? Toss off a virulent walking bomb over in that corner. They seem to be more interested in each other, but that will help me out once they are done. And then I can concentrate on those down here, near us."

"Not a terrible idea. But why not throw the blizzard down here, where the bulk is?" He pointed to the area closest to the royal tent.

"Because that's where my woman is. I can't freeze her in the middle of a battle!" she scoffed.

Alistair patted her hand. "You're forgetting the first rule of grand melee: every man for himself."

"All the more reason to ally with a woman," she declared, lifting her chin haughtily. "Oh, no. What is she doing?" Maebh's woman had been distracted as one of the fighters wobbled dramatically and fell to the ground. "He's feigning, you fool!" Maebh leapt to her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth. "It's a trap!" she cried. "Don't fall for it! He's fine!"

But it was too late. The rogue jumped up and caught her by surprise, and the woman was defeated.

"_Damn_," cursed Maebh, flopping back in her seat and pounding the armrest with her fist. "Damn them all."

"Commander, if I may be so bold," Renaud spoke up. "I've never seen a darkspawn execute such a deception."

"I suppose so..." Maebh sulked as the melee continued, no longer interested in the action.

* * *

It was nearly sundown by the time the melee finally ended. Maebh gathered up her cloak and prepared to leave with Loghain and Renaud.

Alistair touched her gently on the arm. "You're not joining us for supper?"

She shook her head. "We have the feast and the ball tomorrow, remember? I'm just going to get to bed early and try to get a good night's rest. So... good night, Your Majesty." She curtsied awkwardly, her arm still in his hand. "I shall see you on the morrow."

"Yes, of course," he responded, looking troubled.

It wasn't until she got back to her chambers that she realized he had slipped a note into one of the pockets in her cavernous sleeves.

_Maybe,_

_I'd like to spend some time in the garden. Meet me when you can, ~A. _

For a moment, she had an impulse to crumple the note, throw it in the fire, and deny having ever received it. She got as far as the crumpling before she lost her nerve. She hated lying to him. Besides, what sort of mischief could he try in the garden?

Never mind that, were she perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit that she deeply missed Alistair's company. She longed to spend time with him with no servants or subordinates or siblings. Not as a king, not as a hero. Just two young Wardens of very little importance to anybody but each other.

Whether Alistair was seeking that kind of company, or the girl who backstabs her sister kind of company, remained to be seen.

* * *

The palace had several gardens. Between playing with Cailan, the battle to reach the Archdemon, and her long recuperation after her injuries sustained during that battle, Maebh had seen all of them. But there was no question in her mind where Alistair would be waiting.

She paused at the door, looking out onto the small garden behind the North Wing. His back was to her, silhouetted in the harvest moon. She stepped forward, footsteps crunching on the hoarfrost. He turned when he heard her approach.

"You came," he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

"Of course I came," she said softly. "You had need of me."

He went to her quickly, wrapping her in a bear hug and resting his forehead against hers. "If you only knew how many times I had need of you in the past year and you just weren't here. Oh, Maebh."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "Me, too," she sighed, feeling warm and safe in his arms.

He stroked her hair, then took her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her. She twisted out of his grasp. "No," she said quietly.

He took a deep breath, clearly frustrated. "Why not? What's changed? It's that … that man, isn't it." It was not a question. He let go of her, his pained look demanding a response.

"Don't, Alistair. Just, don't." She turned away. A year. A lifetime. Everything had changed. She turned to him, and it was painful to see him looking so lost and sad and old in the moonlight. Did she look the same? She still could feel the scars on her back, her leg. How many scars did they both bear that none could see?

"I can't do this anymore."

"Because of the Orlesian."

"No. Because...because you love her."

He sat on a bench and ran a hand through his hair. "I do," he said helplessly. "I didn't at first, but after you left... She would always insist on appearances when we were in public, but in private she... She never forced anything on me. She was always very kind, kinder than I expected. And time went on and after I came back from visiting you she... she _knew_ and she was _hurt _but she never said a word of it to me. I hated myself hurting her like that. And then... I realized that I loved her. Maker forgive me."

She shook her head, baffled. "What's to forgive? She's your wife!"

He turned anguished eyes to her. "But... you were... I was supposed to..."

She sat next to him and took his hands in hers. "It wasn't meant to be. Not for us."

He squeezed his hands into fists. "So that's it, then? We just chalk it up to having been lovesick children who made a stupid mistake?"

"I would never call what we had a mistake," Maebh replied quietly, staring down at the highly manicured ground. "It was what it was, but it was not meant to be forever."

He stared at her for several moments in silence before sighing to himself. "You're right. _Damn_ you for always being right." He cleared his throat and cupped her face in his hand. "I suppose it would have been foolish for us to make such a mistake, so many, many times." He grinned at her, but his attempts at humor not making this any easier.

She continued on. "I know what I feel for you. You are my dearest friend, there is nobody in this world I trust more than you. And I know you feel the same way for me. Our love," and a sudden lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She looked away. It was too hard to look into his eyes and not melt. "We just have to find a different way of expressing it. Brother."

"Yes." He stroked her cheek with his thumb before letting his hand fall. "Sister."

She rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat, huddled against the cold and watching the autumn moon shimmering through a flurry of early snow.

"We'll probably start succumbing to our Calling around the same time, you know," Alistair spoke up, breaking the silence.

"I thought you quit the Wardens," she joked without rancor.

He hugged her around the shoulders. "Well, the Taint is most blissfully unaware of my change in profession, sadly."

She frowned. Talking about the Calling always made her uncomfortable. "Why bring it up now?"

He grasped her shoulders and looked at her. "I wanted to ask you. If we both survive to that point, would you permit me to go with you? I just... I don't want to go alone."

She took a deep breath, tears trembling behind her lashes. "Yes, of course I will," she replied quietly. Only then did she wrap her arms around him, and allow herself to weep.

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* * *

I feel I owe you all a bit of an explanation. I would like to apologize profusely for the gap in updates. Between the last update and now, I moved approximately 2500 miles. So... things got in the way of updates. But please don't think I've given up on the story. My updates may be slow but they will come!

And finally, many many thanks to my amazing beta, LotheringRose. She basically fixed the scene with Zevran, among other things, and kicks ass.


	16. Diplomatic Relations

Maebh dragged herself out of bed, shivering in the predawn chill. Grumbling under her breath, she pulled a robe off the peg on the wall and tied it around her waist.

"Ghislaine!" she called, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What am I supposed to wear today? Ghislaine?" Only silence responded. When Maebh realized her fellow Warden's bed was still neatly made, she cursed. She would bet ten sovereigns that meant the girl's pursuit of Seneschal Perth had finally been consummated, if she could find someone stupid enough to take such odds. She threw a pillow at the door, noting with pleasure the soft _thud _it made against the thick wood.

Good for Ghislaine. At least one of them was finding some kind of satisfaction. Maebh hadn't had such an outlet since Alistair's visit, and it wasn't like there was going to be any repeat of _that _anytime soon. Or ever. No, if the tightness in her belly were to be relieved, she'd have to do it herself. But not today. Today was the Ball.

She grimaced. Maybe if she drank enough during the feast, she wouldn't feel so awkward during the dancing. Turning to the wardrobe, she tried to remember which gown Anora had deemed she wear today when there was a knock on the door. She ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the intruder knocked again, much louder this time. An annoyed sound escaped her as she stomped over to the door.

"What?" she grumped as she threw the door open.

"Good morning, Maebh," A far-too happy Renaud grinned back at her, his eyes flicking to her bared shoulder and naked thigh that had slipped out of her robe during her little tantrum.

The tightness in her belly clenched even tighter, and her cheeks grew hot. "Yes," she said, attempting to use her commander-voice while tugging the robe back up to a decent level. "Can I help you with something, Renaud?"

He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. "_Oui_, Ghislaine wanted me to tell you that you are to wear the grey silk with the Warden's crest embroidered across the, uh," he cleared his throat again flushed slightly, "across the bodice."

Maebh's embarrassment was quickly replaced by irritation. "So, did she give you this message last night, or did Perth's maid deliver it over breakfast?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "If you'll excuse me..." and turned to go.

"Wait." She reached out and grabbed his forearm. "Do... do you know if the First Enchanter has eaten yet? I wish to invite him to break fast with me."

He placed his hand over hers and left it there, and Maebh felt a blush creep up her neck at the feeling of his skin. "But of course. I will deliver the invitation personally, if you so choose." he said quietly.

"Do that," Maebh said, still trying to sound official. He nodded briefly before slipping away.

* * *

"So, how have you been enjoying the festivities so far, child?" Irving smiled as he sipped his tea.

Maebh cleared her throat, trying to cover for the fact that her brain seized up at the thought of offending the First Enchanter with her answer. "Overall, everything has been fine. It just gets so tiresome, spending all my waking hours with dignitaries and monarchs and keeping up appearances. That's why I invited you here, First Enchanter. I longed for some time with people who actually knew me as myself, not as the Warden Commander or Hero of Ferelden."

She picked at a scone, brushing the crumbs off the skirt of her mage robes. She hadn't worn them since she had found the Chasind robes in the Kocari Wilds. The garment felt stiff, heavy, confining.

"If you find it so irksome," Cullen interjected, "you could always come back to the Tower."

She inhaled deeply, attempting to control her irritation at the intrusion of both the Knight-Commander and the young Templar. When she sent the invitation to Irving, it had not occurred to her that they would assume it was extended to them as well. "No, Cullen, I do not think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Greagoir stroked his beard as he spoke. "We could certainly use you. Things are far better now than they were after Uldred's revolt, but we still have a shortage of experienced mages. And Irving certainly isn't getting any younger."

Irving laughed drily. "Eloquent as always, Greagoir. As to your point, you are aware that our Maebh here has some very important responsibilities outside of the Tower. She simply cannot abandon her order while they still are cleaning up after the last Blight."

Greagoir harrumphed. "I'm not suggesting she abandon anything, but rather determine where her talents could do the most good and apply herself there."

"But-" Maebh started. The walls were not _actually _closing in on her, regardless of how much it seemed that they were.

"She should come back," Cullen insisted, brow furrowed. "The new apprentices are planning things, I'm sure of it. I think some of the maleficarum survived and the Guerrin boy-"

"Wait, what about Con-" she tried.

Greagoir waved his hands dismissively. "The boy is homesick, it's all perfectly natural." He turned to Maebh. "You'll have to excuse Cullen. Recovering from the... what he experienced has been stressful for all of us. Irving and I thought that bringing him along to the celebration would help lift his spirits. And you have been feeling better, yes?"

Cullen nodded solemnly, stirring his porridge but not eating any.

"And to think, tonight is the ball!" Greagoir said with hollow gusto. "I have heard rumors that there will be fire dancers. I haven't seen a fire dancer performance in years."

Maebh shrugged. "Anora hasn't told me much, other than what to wear and when to show up. Speaking of, and I apologize for having to cut our time short, but I really shouldn't dally. She gets irritable if I'm late." She stood, gesturing to the maid to clear her place, and the older men graciously followed her example.

"It's not right," Cullen burst out.

"I'm sorry?" Maebh turned back, confused.

He reddened and looked down. "You and... and your f-family. It's not right."

Maebh glanced from Irving to Greagoir, who both looked as confused as she felt. "What isn't right, Cullen?"

He balled his hands into fists and frowned at the floor. "I did some research. The Chantry used to permit mages contact with their families. It wasn't until later that they forbid it, when they found that such intense relationships made them more vulnerable to demons."

"Well," Maebh twisted her hands together and slowly backed toward the door. "I will certainly keep that in mind."

"You should do _more_ than keep it in mind!" Cullen stood abruptly, pounding a fist into his open palm. "You should come back to the Tower and help us keep it _safe_!"

"Cullen," chided Greagoir, "you're talking to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. You must be respectful. Now come, boy. It's time to go."

Cullen looked up and met her eye, and what she saw chilled her. It was not merely frustration or shyness. He looked at her with a rage burning in his eyes that she could not comprehend. The anger he had revealed when trapped by the desire demon had not dissipated with time, but intensified.

She shut the door quietly after they left, feeling as if she had just slipped passed a monster.

* * *

The wine they had served her was lovely, deep and rich and red. It swirled along her tongue and made her head swim in a most pleasing fashion, fueling a pleasantly warm glow in her belly. "This isn't nearly as bad as I feared it would be," she leaned over and murmured to Alistair, thinking herself very discreet. He laughed into his own goblet.

"Oh?" challenged the Revered Mother, seated to her left. "So tell me young Warden, how bad did you truly expect it to be?"

Feeling like an apprentice caught wandering the halls after curfew, Maebh quailed under the Revered Mother's glare. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair shrink slightly as well.

Irving laughed. "Our Maebh has always been shy, poor thing. All this attention must be very trying for her."

Maebh glared into her soup. "I'm _right here_, you know," she muttered as one of the servers refilled her drink.

"Warden," Anora had risen her voice just enough for Maebh to know exactly just how much trouble she was in. "Would you kindly call your hound to heel?"

She looked across the table to see a flustered Empress of Orlais pushing at an inquisitive Mabari who was very interested in something in her lap, and the King and Queen of Antiva viewing the spectacle with the utmost amusement. "Not my dog," she shrugged. "Sal's right here." She gestured between herself and Alistair, just as he slipped a chunk of cheese to the happy canine.

"Anora, why do you have so many dogs in the banquet hall?" Celene asked, clinging to her dignity as best as she could. A servant attempted to drag the snuffling Mabari away, with little success. "Surely this sort of barba-" she bit her tongue. "It _cannot_ be sanitary."

Maebh glanced down the table as Alistair and Anora tried to placate the empress. The other end of the table looked to be having more fun. Teagan and Ghislane were flirting shamelessly, and even Teyrn Cousland was joining in on whatever silly game they were playing. At the foot of the table, Isolde was actually smiling at something Eamon was saying to her. Though, she noted, Loghain seemed to be eyeing the King and Queen of Antiva with an odd intensity.

Finally, her eyes met Renaud's. He looked at her over the rim of his goblet, pinning her with a smouldering gaze. She shivered, though she wasn't cold, and occupied herself by attempting to eat the enormous cut of beef that had been served to her.

"By the Stone, this is a spread," King Bhelen enthused after he drained his tankard. "But I should have expected as much, seeing as the King here is a Grey Warden. You lot always have had most... _impressive _appetites."

The food turned to ashes in Maebh's mouth as Alistair and Anora both stiffened. Dwarven ideas of what constituted polite dinner conversation varied greatly from those Topside. Alistair took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, the Taint does tend to make one hungrier, as you know."

Bhelen nodded sagely. "Ancestors know I've met enough of your lot, on their way to the Deep Roads. They always ate heartily when offered meat and ale, but took so little with them on their expeditions. It is an odd juxtaposition."

"May we interject?" Celene said, bosom heaving ever-so-slightly as she pushed the persistent dog away while attempting to reach for Alistair's hand across the table. "We do believe that we speak for all of us gathered here, when we say how very much all assemebled appreciate and honor the sacrifice of the Grey Wardens. We are honored to celebrate your incredible accomplishments here today."

"Hear, hear!" shouted Teagan from the other end of the table, draining his tankard as Ghislaine and Fergus dissolved in giggles.

Alistair and Anora exchanged glances. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Celene," Anora smiled.

"Well,_ I_ wanted to commend you, personally, king to king," Bhelen continued, casting an irritated glance at the Revered Mother and First Enchanter seated higher than he. "I must confess, when we first met all those months ago I did not peg you for having such progressive attitudes."

Maebh stifled a giggle at the notion and the Revered Mother frowned as Alistair choked on a bite of potato. "Progressive? Me?"

"Of course! I would even go so far as to call it downright libertine," Bhelen leaned back comfortably, smiling broadly at the looks of confusion the other guests were exchanging around him.

An icy thread of anxiety snaked down Maebh's spine. Wherever Bhelen was going with this, it was nowhere good.

"Your Highness," Loghain spoke up from the other end of the table. "I hope you are not suggesting that the circumstances surrounding the king's marriage to my daughter is anything like your relationship with that Duster woman."

Bhelen waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing of the sort. I was speaking of his relationship with your _other _daughter. To be so open about their relationship is an astonishing leap forward for the people of this country."

The sudden silence nearly crushed Maebh. She bit her lip as everybody began reacting at once. She was dimly aware of the exploding chaos surrounding her; the Empress' shocked invocations of propriety, the faint flush of anger on Anora's face as she spoke in low, clipped tones at the sputtering Alistair, the Revered Mother's demands for an explanation, the First Enchanter protesting the very thought of such accusations on her honor, the roars of shouting and laughter that started low and increased in intensity until she was sure it would kill her. She could not control the will building up at her fingertips. She balled her hands into fists and shoved herself away from the table.

She did not even attempt to excuse herself as she ran all the way back to her chambers.

* * *

"I said I'm fine, Father! Leave me alone!" Maebh shouted at the door, hugging a pillow to her chest. Breathing deep, she beat back the urge to set random objects around the room on fire. That wouldn't help anything.

"_Pardon_, Maebh?" the muffled voice on the other side of the door was most definitely _not_ Loghain's. "Shall I return later?"

It was Renaud. "Wait!" she called, running to the door. "No, wait, just a moment." The lock was being extra cumbersome for some reason.

She stared at Renaud as she swung the door open wide. "C-come in," she stuttered.

"I simply wanted to ask if there was anything you require." His brow wrinkled in concern as he spoke. "Are you hungry? Shall I have something brought up for you to eat?"

She bit her lip and glanced up and down the hall to ensure that it was deserted. "Please, could you just..." She tugged on his sleeve, "Could you just stay with me a while?"

"But of course." He bowed his head slightly and stepped into her chambers, shutting the door behind him.

"So who sent you?" she sighed, flopping into the sofa near the fire.

"Nobody," he replied with a shrug. "I thought maybe you could use a friend."

She sank deeper into the cushions. "I don't want to see any of them again. Ever. Can we just leave tonight? There must be a back door to this place, somewhere."

He laughed softly and made his way to the window. "Where would you like to go?" he asked playfully, peering through the glass. "Perhaps I can scout our way."

She smiled and stretched, tension seeping away. "Hm. What was that place you mentioned, where you said you grew up? The one with the little lizards?"

"Ah! Yes, and the wildflowers. Churneau." He tilted his head and frowned thoughtfully. "I am sorry to say, that plan would not work very well this time of year."

She curled her feet under her and leaned her chin against the back of the sofa. "Why not?" she pouted.

"Well, as you know it is rather late in the season for travel. And we would have to cross the Frostbacks in the middle of the first snows, and then go through Val Royeaux at the height of Satinalia celebrations. I don't need to explain to you why _that_ would slow us down. And then we would still have many leagues to go before we arrived, and, unfortunately, when we got there you would discover that Churneau is miserable in the spring." He made a wry face. "It simply becomes a flat plain of knee-deep mud until summer begins. Besides," he turned to face her, "we still wouldn't be far enough away to escape your sister's rage once she discovered you were missing."

Maebh groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I should have killed Bhelen when I had the chance."

"If I may be so bold, what exactly did he say?" He asked gently, coming towards her. "I am afraid we could not hear on the other side of the table. All I could tell is that the Dwarven King said _something_ to offend... well, everybody. Then you ran away."

"Oh Maker..." She sighed and sank lower in the cushions. "He congratulated Alistair on being so open in his relationship with... me."

"Oh!" His eyebrows jumped up to his hairline and he pursed his lips. "My. Teyrn Cousland had told everybody he just made a particularly ribald joke. I suppose that is one interpretation..."

"It's so unfair!" she burst out, clenching her fists. "It's over! I actually did what everybody was telling me to do and we agreed to stop and _now_ I'm going to have my reputation … well I guess it couldn't get much _worse,_ but it is awful for Nora and Alistair." She leaned her forehead against her knees. "I hate this. I'm no good at it. I just want to go out and kill Darkspawn and be left alone."

"It's only one more night, Maebh," he said, brushing the tips of his fingers across her hair and sweeping her bangs out of her face. "Then we shall return to killing and mayhem, I promise."

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him.

His fingers drifted down the side of her face, his touch so light she barely felt it, tingling against her skin. He cleared his throat and straightened his doublet, then bowed and turned toward the door. "By your leave, Commander."

"Wait, where are you going?" she asked, hurrying to her feet.

"I..." He seemed at a loss, "I had assumed..."

"I want you to stay with me," she blurted as shegrabbed the front of his doublet. "Please, I just..." Without waiting for her senses to return, she kissed him.

His mouth tasted of wine and she could feel the heat of his body through his clothes and her knees began to shake. Thoughts of her humiliation at the feast and the further indignities she would be forced to suffer at the ball slipped from her mind. All that mattered was that room and the feeling of his lips against hers and his hands on her body.

He pulled away, and she felt as if all the breath left her body at once. "I'm sorry," she said as he turned to the door. "I shouldn't have, I don't know what came over me." She turned away, not wanting to watch as he left.

She heard his hand on the latch and leaned against the bedpost, hugging herself. Suddenly, she felt hands on her shoulders, spinning her around. "I thought you were leaving," she exclaimed.

"_Non_," he said low, grinning mischievously. "I simply locked the door."

Again, his mouth was on hers. She reached for the laces of his doublet as he began to undo the buttons on her gown. "Maker, why didn't we do this sooner?" she said, frustration mounting. "This would have been so much easier if-"

He kissed her and pulled her toward the bed. Her thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. Her need for him pulsing so hard it became a tangible thing, a physical ache that settled between her legs. She shrugged out of her gown and tore at her undergarments.

He caught her hands and kissed her again, soft and slow. She struggled against him, and broke away. "But," she tried to collect her thoughts, "why-"

"Shh," he breathed against her neck, releasing her only long enough to disrobe. She took advantage of his distraction and pounced.

"Oof!" he grunted as she knocked him onto the bed before straddling him and kissing him passionately. She held his arms down and nipped at his lips, grinning at her victory.

It was short-lived. Somehow, he slipped out of her grasp and snaked his arms around her waist, and flipped until she was pinned beneath him. She scowled and tried to fight free.

Renaud loosened his grip and furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon, did I misunderstand your intentions? Would you like for me to go?"

"No!" she squealed, wriggling her legs out from under him, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him close against her. She clutched the front of his shirt and yanked him close. "Why are you going so _slow_?" She could feel him hardening against her, which only served to baffle her further. "What are you _waiting_ for?"

He chuckled low and smoothed the hair from her face. "_Calme-toi_" he murmured, kissing her neck. "_Mon amour_."

She relaxed slightly, and he pulled off his shirt. His hands caressed her body, and she thrilled to his hushed whispers of "_ma belle dame._" His mouth trailed down the skin between her breasts, her belly, and still he continued downward.

She sat up slightly. "What are you... _Oh_!" she gasped as his mouth found her center.

Her bones turned to jelly, and she leaned back against the pillows as his hands caressed her inner thighs. His lips and tongue brought sensations such as she had never felt. She could feel him smiling against her as she shuddered and cried out to the Maker.

Emboldened by her reaction, he doubled his efforts. She reached down and tangled her fingers in his thick hair. A single thought managed to penetrate through the waves of pleasure coursing through her.

Why had nobody told her of this before? How had she reached adulthood without knowing that this was allowed? Anger flickered at the corners of her mind, but then Renaud's hand joined to intensify the work of his tongue and her thoughts exploded like fireworks. She bit her fist to keep from crying out as her hips bucked and her body spasmed in ecstasy.

She fell back, flushed and glowing. "That... that was..." She found that she couldn't think of a superlative which would fully express how she felt.

He grinned and lay next to her, running his fingers through her hair. "_Ma belle dame sans patience_," he said, teasing.

She squinted at him. "You keep saying these things. You know I don't speak Orlesian. How do I know you're not insulting me?"

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Because I would never do such a thing,_ mon petite chou_."

Her squint turned into a glare. "You're playing a dangerous game for a man who never even took off his pants."

He frowned thoughtfully and nodded in agreement. "_Oui_, however, I thought perhaps you would appreciate a respite before we... progressed." He lightly drifted his fingers against the tip of her breast, and she sighed as the flames of desire were rekindled.

"What if..." she fought to maintain focus. "What if I get angry and throw you out?"

He leaned his head over to join his fingers. "I expect," he said as be began to fondle her, "that at some point you would come to reconsider that decision."

She took a deep breath, trying to formulating a clever response while refraining from arching her back, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"_Abricot d'Andraste_," he cursed bitterly.

"Commander?" Ghislaine's lilt was muffled by the door. "Are you quite composed?"

"Uh," She scrambled to find her gown, suddenly thankful that she had never managed to get completely undressed. "Just... give me a moment." She tossed Renaud his shirt, pulled on her robe and threw her gown behind the changing screen.

"Commander?" Ghislaine repeated. "There is also a friend here to see you."

She felt a rising sense of panic. "F-friend?" she asked, clearly baffled. She hurried to try and comb the tangles out of her hair as Renaud laced up his doublet.

"_Oui_," came another voice. "If you will see me..."

"Leliana!" Maebh cried, her panic evaporating. She ran to the door and threw it open. "Thank the Maker!" She threw her arms around her, laughing delightedly.

"Oh, Maebh," Leliana said, eyes shining with happy tears. "It is so_ good _to see you!" She looked behind Maebh and her eyes widened. "Oh, pardon me. I did not realize you already had company..."

"I was on my way out," Renaud's voice was cold and flat. "By your leave."

He nodded curtly to Maebh before pushing his way past Leliana and out the door.

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* * *

Ok a few things:

Translations of what Renaud says:

_"Calme-toi, mon amour" _is "Calm down, my love."

_"Ma belle dame sans patience,"_ is "My beautiful lady without patience."

_"Mon petite chou" _is "My little cabbage".

and "_Abricot d'Andraste_," is "Andraste's [vulgar term for vagina]."

I have been told that _mon petite chou_ is a legitimate term of endearment in French. I'm still not entirely certain whether the young man who told me such things was joking or not. Also I am hiding behind the fact that this is Orlesian and not actually French, so any errors in translation are because of that, ok? And not just because I was lazy and just used Google translate.

Again, many thanks and sparkles and flowers to LotheringRose for the amazing beta.

Special personal message to Mutive: the title is completely a coincidence. Unless you like it, then it's an homage :D


	17. Illuminations, Part I

Ghislaine and Leliana exchanged glances and struggled to contain their mirth. Maebh crossed her arms and scowled. "What?"

"Oh!" yelped Ghislaine. "Nothing! We were just... unaware that you were …" she stifled a giggle. "Entertaining a visitor."

Maebh stepped aside and admitted them to the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She decided to just ignore the mussed state of her hair, her clothes, and the bed. "Well, what's done is done. Come, help me get dressed for the ball. And Leliana, I did not know you had arrived!"

"Just last night," Leliana informed her, helping Ghislaine to take Maebh's ball gown out of the closet. "The snows have already started, I had to add an extra two weeks to my journey to ensure that I would arrive here in time. In fact, I would have been here earlier in the week but was delayed by a sudden squall."

"So you got here just in time to witness my humiliation at the hands of the dwarven king," Maebh acknowledged bitterly as she began to strip off her undergarments and pull on fresh ones.

"That was most unfortunate." Leliana frowned, laying the gown out.

"Tell me, was there ever a good reason to crown him? Or was it just the lyrium talking?"

"What an ass," Ghislaine said angrily, nearly tearing the seam as she unlaced it. "Why would he do such a thing?"

Maebh shrugged and held out her arms to be dressed. "He probably did think it was a compliment. As for why he thought it was an appropriate thing to bring up during a diplomatic feast I'll never know."

Leliana's frown deepened. "I may have some information which will help illuminate that point." She and Ghislaine carefully raised the gown over Maebh's head. "This morning, Empress Celene invited King Bhelen to break fast with her. From what I understand, during their meeting she spoke a great deal about Alistair's modernizing influence on the country. Your name, in particular, came up as a possible reason for this progressive movement."

"_Mon C__réateur_," groaned Ghislaine. "She had intended for something like that to happen! But why?"

Maebh shook her head. "Because she's still trying to orchestrate landing herself a Theirin husband. So any wedges she can lodge into the marriage of Alistair and Nora are to her advantage. ."

Even Leliana looked surprised at this. "How could you know such a thing?" she questioned.

"Because she was playing the same game with Cailan before he died." Maebh chewed a nail until Leliana pushed her hand away from her mouth. "He never actually told me this, of course. I learned of it through correspondence I found after his death."

"Does the queen know?" Leliana asked as she tightened the laces on Maebh's bodice. "She seems genuinely fond of the Empress."

It was Maebh's turn to laugh. "Well, I know I haven't told her. But don't worry, no child of my father would honestly consider the Orlesian monarch a _friend_. And speaking of Orlesian friends, may I apologize for Renaud's behavior? I honestly don't know what came over him. He's usually so polite..."

Ghislaine and Leliana exchanged glances again. "You do not know," Ghislaine said softly, "about his history?"

Maebh stopped and thought. "I know he's from a town called Churneau, his father died when he was young and his mother remarried. Oh, and that he was training to be a chevalier before he joined the Wardens."

"That is all true," Leliana conceded as she fetched a brush and hairpins from the vanity. "But there is more to the story. Renaud's mother did not just remarry, she remarried one of the most powerful nobles in all of Orlais: Marmion de Montgast."

Ghislaine nodded solemnly. "They say he is second only to the Empress herself in riches and influence."

"He's never really said much of anything about his stepfather," Maebh said, carefully seating herself at the vanity. Nervously, she arranged her skirts and eyed herself in the mirror before reaching for a brush to begin working out the knots in her hair. "I wonder why that is?"

Leliana sighed and took the brush away. "Your hair is not a darkspawn, you don't need to attack it. That's how it becomes raggedy." Gently, she began to brush Maebh's hair. "Let me ask you something, Maebh. You've never really shared much of anything about what your life was like in the Tower. Why is that?"

"It just..." her mind shied away from the memory. The isolation, the confinement, the constant fear. "It just never came up."

"It never came up because you don't like to talk about it," Leliana chided. "You don't like to talk about it because it was a miserable period of your life and it is painful to discuss. That is what Renaud's life was like with his stepfather."

"Hm," Maebh began to gnaw on a fingernail as the pieces fell into place. "I guess that makes sense."

"_Enfant insolent_," Ghislaine tutted, pulling her hand away. "I know, I shall lacquer your nails. And they will be so beautiful that you will not chew on them anymore!"

"You'll... wait, what?" Maebh asked, baffled.

"_Un moment_!" she trilled happily, skipping toward to the door. "I must go fetch it!"

Leliana continued quietly brushing her hair until Ghislaine had left. "I must confess, I omitted some details."

"What sort of details?" Maebh asked as she sorted through the jewelry Anora had lent her for the week. Maebh had briefly considered wearing the moonstone set, but then remembered that she had received both pieces as gifts during adulterous affairs with Anora's husbands. To wear them at an event hosted by her sister seemed wholly uncooth.

Leliana glanced at the door one last time before continuing. "About Renaud's past. I did not know if Ghislaine knew the whole story, and did not want to divulge such things in her presence without his knowledge."

"But," Maebh tried to turn to look at her, but Leliana pushed her to face straight. "Why tell me, then?"

"You are lovers, are you not?" Leliana said matter-of-factly. "It seems the sort of think you should be aware of."

Maebh blushed. "Well... uh, yes. I suppose we are."

"What I wanted to tell you is how he came to be a Warden. You see," Leliana took a dab of hair oil and began to work it through Maebh's tresses. "His stepfather had arranged a marriage between Renaud and one of the Empress' cousins. Everybody agreed it would be an excellent match. Aurélie was so very beautiful and good-natured and kind, and Renaud is so very handsome and quick-witted and generous. And, by all accounts, the two got along very well. All were pleased."

"What happened?" Maebh asked as Leliana began to plait her hair. "She didn't die, did she?"

"Oh, no." Leliana assured her. "In fact, Aurélie is alive and well and living in Val Royeaux still. No, what happened was Renaud met a poor girl who sold flowers outside the Chantry, named Dielle. He was purchasing flowers to decorate his father's grave when she was attacked by some wretches who wished to steal her meager earnings, and perhaps do her even greater injury."

"He wouldn't be the first to marry a woman he didn't love for political reasons," Maebh pointed out as she handed Leliana a jeweled hairpin.

"That is true. However, this was no mere infatuation. In the course of a few weeks he fell madly, deeply in love with Dielle. And she with him. They could not bear to be apart, not for the Empress, not for his stepfather, not for anything." Leliana secured the plait and began on another.

"So what did they do?" Maebh asked, wondering if Leliana ever told tales of her own star-crossed love.

"Renaud determined that the one thing keeping them apart was his status and the wealth he stood to inherit. He also determined that the best way to lose both that would not disgrace his family or leave him unable to wed his love would be to join the Grey Wardens."

"Oh, Maker, don't tell me she's dead," Maebh said, feeling slightly ill.

"No, she's not dead, either," Leliana laughed. "Maebh, not every story ends in a pile of dead bodies."

"Humph," Maebh frowned. "Most of the ones _I_ know do."

"Anyway," Leliana continued. "Renaud escaped from his stepfather's estate and made his way to the Warden headquarters in Val Royeaux. They considered it odd that this privileged young man would be so desperate to join their ranks so quickly, but as you Wardens are a practical folk they decided to not ask too many questions and welcomed him as a brother. As soon as he was able, he went back to the Chantry to find his beloved Dielle."

"Was she there?" Maebh set aside a garnet ring and earrings to match.

"Yes. And when he told her what she had done, she began to laugh in triumph. You see, Dielle was not a flower-seller at all. She was a bard who had been sent to seduce Renaud in order to break up his betrothal to Aurélie. The plan was merely to reveal their affair in a public way in order to disgrace him. The fact that he made himself ineligible for any noble match was a coup she did not anticipate."

Leliana pinned the second plait.

Maebh sighed. "How awful."

Leliana nodded. "He returned to the Wardens, utterly broken-hearted. They offered him purpose and freedom such as he had not known in his stepfather's house. He threw himself into his work, and it is widely known that he has not taken a lover since. Well, until you, I suppose," she smiled mischievously. "Although that part is not so widely known yet."

Maebh rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't tack on a 'Happily Ever After' to that story just yet. It may still end in the piles of dead bodies if my father ever finds out." She pulled out a few garnet necklaces and tried to determine which would suit her attire best. "Is this why he doesn't like bards?"

Leliana finished with the final plait. "Possibly. I cannot say for sure. I have heard, however, that he has no such disdain for assassins," she pointed to the necklace on the left.

"I suppose they are more straight-forward," Maebh conceded as Ghislaine returned with the lacquer.

* * *

It took what felt like _ages_ but was probably closer to half an hour, but eventually Leliana and Ghislaine stepped back and eyed her critically. "Hm," Leliana mused. "Passable enough."

"I just wish I had thought to start the warmed oil treatment on her hair weeks ago," Ghislaine fretted.

Maebh scowled. "You are both aware of the fact that I am not some kind of Orlesian show dog, correct?"

"Tell us what you think," Leliana pulled her over to the full-length mirror.

The woman who looked back at her from the mirror was almost unrecognizable. Her hair shone in the firelight like finely polished ebony, braided in a style similar to Anora's customary double-buns but much more elaborate, with jeweled pins winking from here and there. Two garnet and silver earrings dangled from her ears, accentuating her neck and making it seem graceful instead of skinny. Her skin was porcelain smooth, an effect helped by some lotions Ghislaine had insisted she use for the last several weeks. A matching garnet pendant hung so low it was nearly between her breasts, and seemed to glow like a beating heart.

The neckline of the bodice was so flattering that if Maebh didn't know better, she would assume that something had been added to her undergarments to make her appear more voluptuous. It was sprinkled with gems that gathered at the center and thinned as it skimmed her bust line to the shoulders, which were trimmed with rich fur that had been dyed scarlet.

The gown was made of fine silk that draped in a way that made her look elegant and curvaceous all at once. It skimmed her body to approximately the knee, where it flared out into a train that Anora assured her was all the rage in Orlais, though it had seemed imminently impractical to Maebh when she had been fitted for it. She turned slightly to see just how long the silly thing was when she noticed how low it was cut in the back, revealing her scars, and how flatteringly the gown hugged her bottom. "Oh, my," she said feeling a bit dizzy.

"The Empress will have quite a hard time catching the King's attention after you appear, Commander," Ghislaine giggled.

Maebh rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he will have no eyes for anybody but his honored wife, my loving sister," she said primly. "Besides, Anora had a gown made for herself out of ice blue silk that is at least as becoming on her as this one is on me."

"Ah," sighed Leliana. "Mac Tir's Beautiful Daughters! The story almost writes itself. But wait!" she snapped her fingers. "One last item." She went to the wardrobe and fished out a length of rosy silk gauze. "Here, wrap this around yourself like so," she explained, draping the fabric across Maebh's elbows so that it hung low across her back. "In case you get cold."

Maebh looked at Leliana, skeptical. "I hardly think this will keep me warm."

"_Non,_ _non, stupide_," Ghislaine teased. "It is to draw attention to your... assets."

"Is there any asset I have to which this gown is not drawing attention, if not making up out of whole cloth?" Maebh demanded, feeling uncomfortable already in the coming appraisal of the guests.

"Commander, you have earned that _derriere_, walking from one end of this country to the other." Ghislaine lifted her chin defiantly. "There is no shame in being proud of such a trait."

"If you say so," Maebh said, not convinced. "Come, let me help you two get ready."

"Oh, no, Maebh," Leliana said, spritzing her lightly with perfume. "You go on ahead. Ghislaine and I will be along shortly."

"But-" she tried to protest, waving the rose and bergamot-scented mist from her face.

"No," Leliana interrupted her and began leading her towards the door. "Our attire is not nearly so elaborate, and we are much more familiar with dressing for such events. Besides, you must mingle with the other guests! Go on now."

"I don't want—" she tried again, trying to resist Leliana's push at her elbow.

"And that is why you must," Leliana said calmly, cutting off her protests yet again. "Off you go!" With that, Leliana firmly shoved her out the door, taking care to not wrinkle the gown.

* * *

Maebh tried to walk quickly to the Landsmeet Chamber. The ball had not yet truly begun, but perhaps they were already serving wine. Her hurried steps lead her to discover that the slit on the right side of the skirt that was so high it nearly exposed her hip. She desperately wished to clutch it closed, but that would only wrinkle the dress and earn her even more of Anora's wrath. She gritted her teeth and endured.

Renaud was seated on a bench right outside the chamber, using a length of rope to play tug-of-war with Sal. He looked up as she approached, and was nearly pulled off-balance when Sal took advantage of his distraction and yanked.

He managed to catch himself before he fell, appearing oddly graceful even while being pulled off balance. Maebh laughed behind her hand, trying to keep her composure. "Your roguish reflexes have their advantages, do they not?" she quipped, arching an eyebrow.

"_Mon belle_, at this moment simply being able to see feels like all the advantage one could ever hope to possess," he replied, bowing gallantly and kissing her knuckles.

She was tempted to bite her lip, but remembered the stain that had been so carefully applied by Ghislaine and opted to let her giggle escape. "You clean up well yourself, you know," she informed him. A grin lit up his face as he stood straight, allowing her to take in what he was wearing.

His attire was not like what the nobility of Ferelden typically wore when not in armor. Instead of loose-fitting striped pants and a multi-colored vest, Renaud was dressed all in black. He wore a long black velvet jerkin over black, tight-fitting wool trousers tucked into knee-high black leather boots. Under the jerkin, which was embroidered with the Grey Warden crest in silver on the left side, he wore a white linen shirt with an elaborate jabot and cuffs. He had recently shaved, and his hair had been combed in such a way as to make it look as though it just naturally fell in a thick wave to the side.

"So you will be escorting me, yes?" Maebh asked.

He nodded. "I would rather we continue the discourse we had begun earlier," he said in a perfectly neutral tone which would not attract the interest of anyone overhearing their conversation. "However, we must do our duty."

Maebh took a deep breath, and tried to quell the fire in her belly that flared at the thoughts his words inspired. "No sense wasting any more time," she said grimly and took Renaud's offered elbow.

The Landsmeet Chamber had been utterly transformed. The palace staff had done an excellent job of erasing the room's utilitarian, and often rather bloody, daily purpose. Soft blue and gold banners draped the walls, accented by glittering garlands and glowing oil lamps. A string quartet was playing on the far side of the room, but the dancing had not yet begun in earnest.

Maebh tried to continue into the chamber, but Renaud held her back. "We must be announced," he murmured.

"Annou—what?" she asked.

Before he could answer, a liveried servant pounded the butt end of his elaborate, decorative staff on the floor and declared in a booming voice, "Warden-Commander Maebh Mac Tir, escorted by Warden Renaud de Montgast!"

She could feel Renaud tense as the entire assembly turned to gawk. It was all she could do to not simply turn around and run out of the room. He began to curse under his breath.

"What is it?" she murmured as they progressed into the room, smiling and nodding.

"That is not my name," he said tersely. "De Montgast is the family name of my stepfather. I have always kept my father's name, de Blassenville."

He led her to her father. "Brother," he nodded at Loghain.

"Commander," Loghain nodded to Maebh.

"If you'll forgive me." With that Renaud turned and stalked off, shoulders tight with anger.

"What inspired that?" Loghain asked, amused, as he took a sip from his wine goblet.

"I have no idea." Maebh shrugged, tugging the silk gauze back up to her elbows. "How come you're not wearing your armor?" It was strange to see Loghain in the Landsmeet Chamber while wearing the brightly-colored finery normally seen on the other Banns. He seemed smaller and less important without his gleaming plate.

He scowled. "Anora said there was to be no armor or weapons at the ball."

Maebh looked around and realized he was right. Not a single guest was bearing arms or armor. "How odd," she said.

He snorted. "It's more _civilized_ she said. We'll see how civilized it is when an assassin shows up or Fergus takes offense at something Alfstanna says or anything else that can go wrong at these ridiculous things."

Maebh accepted a goblet of wine from another liveried servant. "Maybe it won't come to that. Maybe dressing like civilized people has a civilizing effect."

He looked at her skeptically. "Like your foppish friend? Yes, he appears to be quite civilized," he remarked as he gestured over her shoulder.

She turned to see Renaud arguing heatedly with one of the Empress' entourage. "He was insulted about the way we were introduced. He said they used his stepfather's family name."

"You mean he's not truly the spawn of de Montgast?" Loghain actually sounded impressed. "A point in his favor. De Montgast is a pig. Out of curiosity, what did he say he want to be introduced as?"

"De Blassenville," Maebh said, nodding at a northern bann whose name she could not recall.

Loghain frowned and shook his head. "Don't know it. Another point in his favor, that means his family wasn't involved enough in the occupation to become known to me."

"Father, do my ears deceive me? Or are you actually warming to him after all? We shall make a Warden of you yet," Maebh said, smiling.

"Don't count on it," he glowered. "You look nice."

She was taken aback. Unless her memory failed her, she could not recall another time when her father complimented her appearance. "T-Thank you. Anora picked it out."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a troop of Riviani fire dancers. Maebh looked at Loghain and tilted her head towards a secluded alcove. "I need to tell you something," she said quietly, and turned to lead him.

When she was satisfied that nobody was paying attention to them, she turned to face him. "Leliana told me that Bhelen thought what he said at the feast was a compliment."

Loghain shook his head. "Not even Bhelen is that dense."

"Maybe not under normal circumstances, but when the Empress had been extolling the virtues of our 'progressive lifestyle' to him at breakfast, she may have planted that seed. She's trying to cause problems for Nora."

He stroked his chin. "It does appear that way. Not that you're helping that any."

Her temper flared. "For your information, even though I firmly believe it's none of your business, I have not... _been_ with him in over half a year. And we officially ended things last night. You can't blame these things on me anymore. If they're having problems, they may just have an unhappy marriage all on their own." She crossed her arms and scowled.

"Maybe, I do not 'blame' you for anything." Loghain drank deeply. "I blame the Empress. And, to a slightly lesser extent, Eamon."

"Eamon," Maebh growled, temper increasing. "He and I have _much_ to discuss." Nodding smartly, she turned and set off to find the treacherous Chancellor.

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* * *

A/N: Betaed by the marvelous LotheringRose, whom I finally drove to drink. Yes, yes I know. Two updates in less than a month. What is this world coming to?

Orelsian translations:

_Mon Créateur_: My Maker

_Enfant insolent_: Insolent child

_Non,_ _non, stupide_: no, no stupid

_derriere_: backside

_Mon belle_: my beautiful


	18. Illuminations, Part II

Immediately after Maebh left the alcove she discovered a flaw in her plan. In the brief moments she had taken to speak with her father, the Landsmeet Chamber had filled with revelers, with still more pouring in as each moment passed. Their voices, the announcements made at each entrance, the fire dancers, the musicians, the brightly colored clothing and swirling skirts, the clouds of perfume and the rising temperature of the room all began to make her feel light-headed.

It was only one year ago, she reminded herself, that in this same chamber she had faced a different crowd, sword in hand, determined to commit patricide before the end of the day.

Compared to that, this was nothing. She could survive one single Maker-forsaken party.

She squared her shoulders and waded into the crowd. "Maebh, my child," Irving rasped as she passed him, Isolde, and Cullen. "You look lovely. What a striking shade of red you're wearing."

"Thank you, First Enchanter," she replied, subconsciously slipping into the subservient demeanor of an apprentice as she turned to him.

Irving laughed a dry laugh and patted her arm. "Old habits die hard, eh?" He turned to Isolde. "You see, no matter how far they roam or what they accomplish after becoming mages, there is still that sense of community. Of belonging."

Maebh clutched her goblet a little tighter and forced an obedient smile. "Yes, of course."

Isolde nodded, looking as miserable as Maebh felt. "I just worry about my son, First Enchanter. He is such a sensitive boy. What if the other children do not like him? What if they are jealous of his upbringing?"

"If I may be so bold," Maebh turned to Irving, "I have been an apprentice a bit more recently than you have." When he nodded, she turned back to Isolde. "When I was young, there was very little jealousy among the apprentices based upon upbringing. Everyone there had to leave their families, whether that included titles or simply just their names. And in that, everybody became equal."

"That was beautifully put, my child," Irving smiled.

Cullen shifted his weight and frowned. "But they're not all friends," he pointed out.

"Oh, no," Maebh agreed, "not at all. But rivalries are based more on ability and personality than what sort of bed you slept in before you left for the Tower. And from what I saw of Connor, he is a good-natured child who should be able to make friends despite his above-average arcane abilities."

Isolde sighed, looking somewhat less tense. Maebh's heart went out to her. Did her own mother have these same worries? Did her mother even know that she had lived? She had never been brave enough to ask Loghain what he had told her of her fate.

"But the boy is dangerous!" Cullen burst out. "His abilities are not under his control."

"Cullen," Irving laughed with forced joviality. "Of course his abilities aren't controlled! That's why he's still an apprentice."

Isolde's eyes widened in fear. "Dangerous? Because of the dem- I mean, because of what happened when Eamon was ill?"

Cullen whirled on her. "Demon? Because of the demon? What demon? Irving, did you know of this? " He began to get even more agitated. "Is the boy an abomination?"

"No, of course not," Maebh said firmly.

Just then Greagoir appeared and took Cullen by the arm. "My boy," he said with the same forced joviality as Irving. "Perhaps it's time we go get some fresh air?" With that, he quickly led the agitated Templar away.

The cacophony of the crowd did little to disguise the uncomfortable silence. "First Ench- Irving," Maebh said. "Perhaps it would be possible for Isolde and Connor to exchange correspondence? Maybe it is something that could be started with all the new apprentices as you rebuild the Tower."

Isolde's expression grew cautiously hopeful. "That would do much to ease my mind, yes."

Irving shot Maebh a subtle look of disapproval, though no one else would have recognized his expression. "That would be... most difficult. In order for the community Maebh so eloquently spoke of earlier to flourish, we feel it best to sever all ties to that which the apprentice was made to give up. That being said, Conner's situation is of course unique. I shall discuss the idea with the Knight-Commander,."

Maebh smiled a genuine smile. "Be sure to say it was my idea, then he might actually listen." She winked at Isolde and excused herself.

Taking a moment to try to get her bearings, she spied Eamon on the far side of the chamber, speaking with a representative of the court of the Anderfels. She tried to cross the middle of the room, but was yanked back as the fire dancers spun into her path.

"Oh, thank you. That would have been most awkward," she said, turning to her rescuer.

Teyrn Cousland laughed genially. "Well, it wouldn't do to let the Hero of Ferelden burn to death at a party in held her honor, now would it?"

Maebh smiled back, put instantly at ease by the young Teyrn's good-nature. "Oh, I don't know. It would make for quite a moving tale. Perhaps a ballad?"

He tilted his head. "Now that you mention it, I do believe Teagan was mentioning something about a song they sing about you back in Redcliffe..."

"Oh Maker, no," Maebh threw up her hands. "Please, I beg you. I endured a performance of that song once. Never again!"

He laughed again. "Your wish is my command, Warden. May I introduce you to my sister, Elissa?" And he gestured toward a thin, pale young woman standing slightly behind him.

"Please, both of you, call me Maebh," she said, reaching out a hand to grasp Elissa's. The Lady Cousland simply looked irritated and glanced away, which made Maebh feel so awkward she ended up clasping her own hand at an awkward angle in front of her and smiling foolishly. "At... at any rate I just want to thank you two for coming. It is very helpful to see such a prominent family, who have suffered so greatly, lend an example to the rest of the nation in reconciliation." She cleared her throat and tried to subtly glance around, looking for Eamon.

Elissa's lips pressed together in a thin, white line. "You're too kind. If you'll excuse me." She turned sharply and made her way towards Leonas and Habren Bryland. It was only then that Maebh realized that one of the Lady's impressively draped sleeves didn't lie quite right, as if there was nothing beneath it.

"Oh Maker," she gasped, turning to Fergus. "Could you... Oh I feel just awful, I had no idea." She wrung her hands and cursed her ineptitude.

Fergus patted her shoulder. "It's quite alright. Not many know how she lost her arm in the raid on our family's castle. You'll have to forgive her, it wasn't the most auspicious introduction to society." He glanced back at his kinsmen. "I hate to cut our conversation short, but I must see to my sister. Perhaps we should continue this another time?"

"Yes, yes of course," Maebh replied, trying to not get too distracted by the introduction of a dancing bear on the north side of the room.

Fergus took one of her hands and bowed simply, gently kissing the tips of her fingers. "Until we meet again, my lady." Before she could respond he slipped away into the crowd.

For a moment, she simply stopped breathing. Gasping a whole lungful all at once, she clenched and then released her fists. "Keep it together, Maebh," she muttered under her breath.

Over the heads of crowd that had gathered to watch the dancing bear, she thought she spied Eamon heading out onto one of the balconies. She started pushing towards that end of the room.

"Commander!" bellowed an extremely unwelcome voice. "Please, I would speak with you." King Bhelen grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her over to where he was speaking with Alistair and Anora. "I'm glad to have you all together," he said, slurring slightly and looking none-too-steady on his feet. "I just wanted to apologize."

"Really, Your Highness, there's no need," Alistair said, looking pained.

"No!" Bhelen insisted, having a hand in Alistair's face. "I was out of line. End of story. You know, there aren't any Topsiders I admire more than you Wardens. And, you," he said, turning awkwardly toward Maebh, "I owe _everything _to you."

"It's fine, Bhelen, really." Maebh tried to keep her composure as the diminutive monarch wrapped a surprisingly well-muscled arm around her waist and leaned his head against her side. "I know not everybody here understands you the way I do. But I understand what you meant, and that you meant it sincerely. I'm not angry with you."

She felt everybody's eyes on her, but she didn't care. Though Bhelen was an ass, he had been manipulated into making a fool of himself in front of a great many people he had desperately wanted to impress, and her heart went out to him.

Bhelen shook his head. "You know, you might not have a title, my girl, but you're every bit as much of a queen as your sister is. Maybe you'll get tired of all this sky sometime we can make it official, eh?" The way he waggled his eyebrows and leered at her, she couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"If I ever do, you'll know right away!" she promised, bending and kissing the top of his head.

Greatly cheered, he smacked her on the bottom and then swaggered off in the direction of the bear.

"Well," Anora said, sounding impressed. "That was deftly done."

Maebh rolled her eyes. "Yes, as I believe we've talked about before, I was raised by the Circle of Magi, not _wolves_." She grinned at Alistair. "Or flying dogs from the Anderfels."

Alistair snickered and Anora narrowed her eyes at the both of them. "Bhelen does bring up a good point," Anora continued. "You should get married. Perhaps to someone less likely to drown in a keg of ale, but really, it's something we should begin to prepare for."

"What?" Maebh and Alistair said together, sounding eerily alike in tone. The concept made her feel as if her head had suddenly detached from her body.

Anora sighed. "Maybe, you're twenty-seven years old. You're related to the royal family, you are extremely influential, and all would benefit from you making a good match."

"No I don't," she said, feeling panicky. It reminded her of the way she often felt back in the Tower, which only make her panic worse. "I don't need to do anything."

"She's right, though." Maebh felt her stomach tie in even tighter knots. Alistair agreeing with his wife? When had the world turn on end? "It's probably best for everybody. What about Teagan? Or that Cousland fellow? He seems likeable enough." And Anora nodded as if this were a perfectly reasonable thing to say and not _utterly mad beyond all reckoning_.

"No, she's not. She isn't right. Have you found a way to magic my mage-ness out of me? Never mind that I don't _want_ to marry Teagan or Fergus or _anybody_ and there's nothing you can do to make me!" She began to slowly back away from them as she spoke.

"Maebh, my darling," Teagan purred as he slid his horrible hand around her elbow. "My, my. Did my ears deceive me, or were you just talking about me? Good things, I hope."

"Don't touch me!" she flared, yanking her arm out of his grasp and stumbling away. She pushed past Cauthrien, Alfstanna, and another woman she didn't recognize, dodged Perth's attempt to pull her into a dance, shrugged away Leliana and Ghislaine's giggling attempts to drag her into a some game with Renaud, shied away from the Empress and the Revered Mother and forced her way past the rest of the crush of people she didn't recognize and never wanted to meet until she finally reached the balcony that Eamon had escaped to and threw open the door.

"Chancellor," she said, trying to control her anger as best as she could.

"Commander," he said coldly, turning to face her. "Enjoying your party?"

She grit her teeth and slammed the heavy oaken door behind her, isolating the two of them on the cold balcony. Her skirts swirled in the gusting wind. "I know what you're up to, Guerrin."

Eamon took a long drink from his wine and set down the goblet. "Do you, now. And what would that be?"

"Do not presume to play _dumb_ with me, Eamon. After what I've done for you and your lands and your _wife and child _you at least owe me the courtesy of being _honest_." Her will growled within her, an angry creature tearing at her guts. She tamped it down as best she could.

"Honesty?" Eamon scoffed. "It is a bright day in the Black City indeed, to hear a Mac Tir lecture me about _honesty_. Tell me, Commander Amell," he sneered, "because I've always wondered. How much of your benevolence is actually based on this deep-buried philanthropism everybody assumes that you must have, and how much of it is born of an obsessive need to ensure that every Fereldan citizen is willing to pay up when you come calling?"

"I want what's _best _for this country," she shouted, "which is certainly more than I can say for you!"

"So do I!" he declared emphatically. "Which is why I'm trying to prevent another civil war."

She reared back, stunned. "So your proposal to head off a civil war in two decades is to ensure an international one now? Are your wits really that addled?"

Eamon shook his head, disgusted. "Your family is a poison on this land, holding us back. But thankfully you do not wield the power you once did. And soon even that hold will be broken."

His disparagement struck true, and she felt his words as a physical pain in her chest. "My father will never stand for-"

"It does not matter what he thinks now, any more than what the scullery maid thinks. He has no title, no lands and no banners to call."

"M-my sister-"

"Is nothing if she cannot produce an heir!" He exploded, slamming his hand on the railing. "A barren queen is _worse_ than useless."

"If you think you can just sweep me aside as well-"

He glared at her. "Don't let this fancy party fool you, Warden. You are not only imminently replaceable, Ferelden managed to get along without your kind for over four hundred years and something tells me we'd be able to do it again easily." His lip curled. "You. It was a black day indeed when Maric met your father. You people give with one hand and grasp with the other and we are stuck in the muck and the mire while the rest of Thedas continues to march on, leaving us behind. I am through bowing to the demands of the common-born."

Maebh took several deep breaths, wrestling with her nearly uncontrollable urge to throw Eamon off the balcony in a sudden blast of fire. "How did Maric meet my father, Eamon," she said, voice low and quiet.

"Don't patronize me," he looked down his nose at her.

"He met my father when he was lost in the woods. If it were not for my father, your precious Theirin line would have died of exposure or been eaten by wolves. And where were your nobles then? They had abandoned him to his fate because they were too busy licking the boots of their overlords." She felt her father's words tumbling out of her mouth, but she didn't care, because he was right and Eamon was a fool.

"That would have been enough," Eamon growled. "Yet the lot of you persisted."

Maebh looked up at him. "Who led the charge at River Dane and threw the Orlesians out, and later who rescued Maric from the Circle Tower, Eamon? Was it you? Teyrn Cousland? Arl Bryland? Any of the other gaggle of grasping hands that swarm like flies whenever favors are being handed out?"

Eamon turned away, done with her. "You ask foolish questions that you already know the answers to. I assure you, I am very well acquainted with the Legend of Loghain, particularly the part where he abandons the king to his death."

Maebh clenched her fists. "Do _not _speak to me of Ostagar." Cailan's body on the dead ground. She couldn't bear to even think of it. "Who gathered the armies to fight the Blight, Eamon? Was it you? Your brother? Perhaps it was Alistair manipulating me by _putting me in charge_?"

"There would have been no need to do any of that if your father had not turned traitor!" Eamon exclaimed, baffled.

"I'm not finished yet!" she cried, fingers sparking with stray electrical bolts she could not control. "When the Horde arrived at Denerim who led the troops into battle? In case you forgot the fact that Alistair was cowering somewhere, safe, it was Anora who led them. And who was it to battle the very Archdemon itself? Was it any member of your so very _precious _nobility? No! It was me and my father!" She was shaking with rage and it pleased her to see Eamon quail slightly as the power pulsed from her body and her gown flapped in the wind like a blood-soaked flag. "You dare look down upon my family as common-born? Ferelden would not _exist _without us!"

"Be that as it may," Eamon had backed away but clung stubbornly to his original point. "The monarchy requires an heir."

Maebh advanced until she was nose-to-nose with the man. "Find another way," she growled low. "There are any number of eligible banns and their daughters. _Get rid of the Empress_."

"Are you threatening me?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I am telling you this right now: I have the letters that you and she sent Cailan. And Andraste as my witness, if you go forward with this? I will make them public so fast you will be strung up for the traitor you are before you finish hearing the charges." She saw the flicker of fear in his eyes and knew she had won.

"How did-" he started but they were interrupted by an odd crashing sound from the Landsmeet Chamber. "What was that?"

Maebh turned to the door as it burst open and screaming guests began to tumble out onto the balcony. "What happened?" she tried to shout over the din. "What's going on?"

A vaguely-familiar looking woman was shoved into her by the crowd. "Thank the Maker, here you are!" she gasped, clutching her arm. "It's the queen! Something's happened but I couldn't get to her!"

Maebh grabbed the woman's arm with one hand and began to shove her way through the panicked crowd with the other. "Do you have a weapon?" she shouted.

"The queen said-" the woman protested.

"Where is it?" Maebh shouldered a troop of acrobats away, world snapping into focus as the rest of the guests lost themselves in terror and confusion.

She reached into her bodice and pulled out a long, thin dagger.

"Good," Maebh nodded, "hold on to that."

There was an odd smoke in the air and the heat and the screams of the panicked crowd made it difficult to see what was happening. Maebh fought to stay upright as she was knocked and buffeted by people trying to find an exit, the other woman ever at her side, holding her up with a surprising strength. "There!" the woman said, pointing to the center of the Chamber.

It was as if everything else blurred, became indistinct. Maebh's entire world narrowed on the site of her sister lying in a pool of blood. "They never intended to go for me!" she gasped. "It was Nora the whole time!" She broke into a run, half her ridiculous skirt ripping off as the panicked masses tore past her.

Finally she reached Anora's side. "Maker's breath! Who did this?" Blood, horrible bright red blood gushed from a wound in her side.

"The king of Antiva," Anora struggled to say, lips wretchedly pale as she pressed a hand to the wound. "How did they know?" she gasped, voice breaking and eyes filling with tears. "Maybe, help me. I can't... How did they know, I didn't tell anybody, I didn't even tell Alistair yet, I... How did they know?" Her eyes became glassy as she babbled.

Maebh ripped a length of fabric off her skirt. "Stop it, Nora, damn you. Look at me!" She wadded up the silk and pressed it to her side, trying to figure out where to focus her energy first.

Anora clutched Maebh's arm and flinched. "Look out! Oh Maker save us!"

Maebh did not turn to look, but cast a shield over the two of them. "We're safe in here," she told her with a grunt, feeling it in the marrow of her bones as some weapon or other hit the barrier. "As long as I can keep it up. Where's Alistair? Where's Father?"

Anora struggled for focus as Maebh tried to muster the concentration to at least staunch the bleeding. The wound was deep, but if she remembered her anatomy correctly, it did not seem to be near any vital organs. "The King of Antiva tried to run, they went after him and then... Andraste save me they must have known about the baby but I didn't tell anybody how did they know?" Her tears began to fall in earnest and Maebh felt an icy chill down her spine that she had never before felt in battle.

"Look at me, Nora," Maebh yanked Anora's face toward her. "You have to keep it together. Where is the Antivan queen? And her retinue?"

"I don't know I don't know anything I thought they were after you," she began to babble again. "How could I have been so stupid?"

Maebh looked around quickly. The assassins had used some kind of smoke weapon that made everything an indistinct blur of bodies on the other side of the barrier. But she needed Ghislaine to help her. Anora's blood was soaking through the first wad of silk so Maebh ripped another length of material off her skirt. "Maker's breath, Maybe, do you know how much I paid for that?" Anora muttered as Maebh pressed it to her wound.

"Shut up!" she snapped. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and reached out with her mind. Somehow, through all the fog and confusion and the ongoing fight and the last remnants of wine swimming in her head, she could still sense the other Wardens. Father and Alistair had ended up on the grand staircase, and she struggled to find the others.

She realized she had cast her mind too far, as Renaud was just outside the barrier. But she couldn't tell if it was safe. Opening her eyes, she frantically searched for him, and after several panicked moments a shadowy figure waved at her from the other side. Letting go of Anora, she crawled over to the edge. "Ghislaine!" she shouted, hoping he could hear her through the barrier. "I need Ghislaine!"

The figure nodded as if he understood and darted off. Maebh crawled back to Anora. "I need you to focus on me, damn you!" She pressed the silk against her wound, noticing with some displeasure that the color of the fabric made it impossible to tell if the bleeding was slowing at all.

There was a tremor in her mind, and she realized that Ghislaine had made it to her. Maebh took another deep breath and released the barrier, slamming it up again as soon as the other mage darted inside. "I need you to heal her," Maebh flinched as a crossbow bolt struck the barrier. It felt as if she were being punched from the inside of her chest. "Or at least slow the bleeding."

"Save the baby," Anora sighed, head drooping.

Ghislaine's eyes flew wide for a split second before she got to work. "Your Highness, you must stay awake," she said gently as Anora's eyes began to close.

"Nora!" Maebh cried, biting her lip as somebody landed on top of the barrier. "Nora, listen to me. We need to discuss something. It's very important."

"Who are you going to marry?" Anora murmured. "You should be grateful I'm letting you choose..."

"No, that's a stupid conversation," Maebh knew if they went down that road she would never be able to maintain her concentration. She cast about for a topic they could discuss. "What's your favorite color?"

"I... I don't know..." Anora was so pale Maebh could see the blue veins in her neck. "That's a stupid question. What is the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

"What? That's... that's not a conversation starter, Nora!" Maebh sputtered. "That's just useless trivia!"

"Who was the better lover?" Ghislaine asked sharply.

Anora's eyes regained some of her focus. "Out of what pool?"

Ghislaine's smile was infectious. "Out of the kings. You both had them. Which was better?"

"Cailan," Maebh said, without a second thought.

"Maric," Anora said, just as quickly. "I mean- I mean Alistair."

"What?" And the barrier shimmered around them, Maebh regained focus and reinforced it just as a blade came slicing in. "Ah!" she hissed, as it felt as though the dagger was stuck inside her. "What did you say?"

"I said Alistair," Anora tried to cover, though a faint flush had appeared on her cheeks. "You must have taught him well. He came to me quite prepared."

"No you didn't, that's not what you said at first." The dagger was ripped out of the barrier and somehow that made the pain even worse. "You said_ Maric_," she grit out between teeth clenched in pain.

"He came to me, before I was wed," she said, dreamily, though her eyes had lost that horrible glassiness. "Or maybe I went to him, I don't remember. It was just before he left... Just as well."

"I don't even know what to say right now," Maebh shook her head. "He was Father's best friend!"

Anora laughed weakly and Maebh's heart lifted. "Oh, come off it. Like you wouldn't have if you had the chance."

"That's hardly relevant," Maebh pouted. "Because you're the one who _did_."

"I just wanted something I chose for myself," she said wistfully. "That's why I don't understand you sometimes. You could have any man you wanted. Why must you keep claiming what's mine?"

"I don't really get to chose much for myself, either," Maebh responded, feeling ashamed of herself.

"No, I suppose you don't," Anora conceded, reaching out to grasp her hand. Maebh grabbed hold and squeezed it tightly, hands slick with her blood. She felt a tap on the barrier and looked up.

A crowd of ghostly figures surrounded the barrier. "Prepare yourself, Ghislaine," Maebh warned.

"For what, Commander?" she asked, trying to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Well, either it's safe to come out, or we're going to have to fight all of them alone." She said, cursing herself for not bringing a vial of lyrium potion.

Ghislaine nodded grimly. "I am ready."

Slowly, Maebh released the barrier, shielding Anora's body with her own. A crowd of guards rushed in, ripping Anora from her and carrying her off, followed by Alistair and a gaggle of servants and Irving. "She's hurt!" Maebh protested lamely. "Don't reopen the wound!"

And then she found herself wrapped in a bear hug, and felt tears in her hair.

"Thank the Maker," Loghain said huskily, clutching her to him so tightly she was sure she would smother, before releasing her and quickly heading off after the mob that had ushered Anora away.

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Many thanks to my beta, LotherinRose, and a very happy birthday and many happy returns to my co-mod and partner in mischief, Vehlr!


	19. The Girl of the Hour

There were people swirling around her, some faces she recognized and some she did not. Hands pushed at her back and pulled at her sleeves and led her away from the Landsmeet Chamber. A cacophony of questions and answers and accusations and pleas for calm flooded her ears until they rang.

She was being led up the stairs, toward her rooms. Somebody was trying to ask her a question. "Maebh, the blood, were you hurt?"

She turned to Zevran, who was holding her left arm. "Blood?" she asked. What could he be talking about? "My dress is supposed to be this color."

She watched as he exchanged a concerned look with Renaud. "She may have been knocked senseless," the other Warden said.

"I'm right here," she protested. "And I'm cold."

"Of course you are, my darling," Zevran took off his cloak and threw it over her shoulders. "We'll get you nice and toasty soon." He turned back to Renaud. "Or she could have been poisoned."

They continued to talk as Maebh stumbled on the thick carpet. Her feet felt completely disconnected from the rest of her body. She was shivering, and all she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.

"Commander!" Renaud shook her. "You must stay awake!"

"The party's over," she mumbled as they arrived in her rooms. "I want to go to bed."

"Not so fast, sly one," Zevran tsk-tsked at her. "We must take a bath first."

"I don't want to take a bath with you, Zevran." She shook off his cloak and fumbled at the ties on her gown with thick fingers. "I want to be left alone." She was so sleepy, why wouldn't they leave her alone?

"Maebh, please," Renaud took her hands. "Allow me to help." She stood meekly as he began to unlace her bodice.

"I see how it is," Zevran chided. "How soon I am replaced! You are a cruel mistress." He took her face in his hands and gently pressed his thumbs against the skin of her cheekbones, looking into her eyes intently.

"Where's Ghislaine and Leliana?" she asked. "Why can't they help me?"

"Ghislaine is with the queen. Leliana is with the prisoner," Renaud informed her. "Shall I assist you further?" he asked as he carefully removed her tattered gown.

"The queen!" she said. "I need to go to her!"

"No," Zevran maneuvered her to the tub. "You will, but not yet. We need to make sure you were not harmed. Smile for me?"

She did her best, and he placed a finger in the corner of her lips and pulled up slightly, then down, checking the color of her gums. "No obvious symptoms yet. This could be a stroke of luck."

"I wasn't poisoned, I've just had a very long day and I'd like to go to bed," she continued to argue.

"Maebh, please, it won't be pleasant to wake up covered in dried blood," Renaud stroked her hair. "Plus, you will disturb the healers if you arrive at the queen's rooms in your smallclothes."

Frowning, she tried to think of a reason why he was wrong, but for some reason she just couldn't put two thoughts together coherently. She was shivering so hard her knees were knocking together and the steam rising from the water looked so inviting... "Fine," she spat angrily as she pulled off her smallclothes and got in the bath.

She scrubbed at her skin with as much venom as she could muster. "Not so hard, you're so impatient!" Zevran took her arm and inspected the skin. "It will do nobody any good if you scour holes in your skin."

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and started scrubbing her chest and face. The suds were turning a disturbing shade of pink. "How did you get out of the cell, anyway?" she demanded. Bits and pieces of information were falling into place in her mind, memories were clearing and the fog of uncertainty lifted. "I thought I left you locked in most securely."

"As it turns out, your sister did not want to spend all that money simply to keep me locked in a cell," Zevran answered, sluicing water over her back and chest.

"So what went wrong?" she asked as she began to tear the pins out of her hair. "How did this happen? How could you let this happen, Zevran?" She was pulling bits of her hair out with the pins but this only fueled her anger. "I thought that's why you were here in the first place!" Anora lying in a pool of her own blood. Cailan's body on the cold ground. She couldn't breathe. "Fade take you!" She slammed her fists on the sides of the tub. "Why couldn't you just do your Maker-forsaken job!"

Zevran paused in his examination and looked at her with a cold, appraising gaze. "Your senses seem to have returned, such as they are."

"Don't you dare be flippant with me, you sorry excuse for a cutthroat!" she raged. "My sister hired you to stop the assassins, and she's the one who was the target the whole time? I of all people should have known... After all, Zevran the Crow was once defeated by a little girl-mage, he can't be competent enough to protect royalty!""

"Stand up," he ordered, his face stony.

Shakily, she got to her feet. "I wasn't injured," she said. "Nobody hit me."

He continued a close inspection of her skin. "If the blade was sharp enough and the proper poisons applied to it, you would never feel a thing. And as to answer your questions, all of our information pointed to you being the target of the assassins. So, it was you I was watching."

"But I was on... I was on the balcony with Eamon." She began to shiver again, this time only from the cold. "I wasn't anywhere near her."

"Precisely. It appears that our luck has held out, at least in this regard. I cannot find any cuts." He held out a flannel nightshift to her.

"But, her shoulder, and her hip," Renaud protested, brow furrowed in concern. "The bruising is so severe."

Maebh stepped out of the tub pulled the nightshift over her head. "No, that's an aftereffect of the shield. When somebody hits it, it's like I'm actually being hit. The bruising isn't very common, true, but it's not unheard of." She turned back to Zevran. "Do you know who did this?"

He gritted his teeth. "The Double Suns."

"Never heard of them. Are they a new guild?" She grabbed a brush off the vanity. Sitting on a stool by the fire, she began brushing the water out of her hair.

"No. They have been active in Antiva nearly as long as the Crows. They just aren't as good as we are." He began to pace, muttering curses to himself in Antivan.

"I am afraid I do not understand." Renaud confessed. "I had heard that the Queen of Antiva had stabbed Anora. Is the Antivan royal family part of this guild?"

"No," Zevran started to laugh bitterly. "Though I suppose their lifespans might benefit from such an arrangement." He clenched his fists. "The Double Suns have been nipping at my heels for months. This had as much to do with my pride as anything else, let me assure you."

Maebh raked a comb through her hair and began rapidly plaiting it. "But how can you be so sure it was them? Aren't there multiple guilds?"

"_Si_," Zevran snarled, kicking a footstool. "However, there is only one that favors disguises to such an absurd degree, prides themselves on tactical strikes, and refuses to use poison." He continued to pace, shaking his head. "They must have ambushed them on the ship, murdered the entire court, and taken their place. I cannot see any other way this could have happened."

"Wait," Maebh paused, thinking quickly. "Then that would mean that _everybody_ on that crew was involved with it, correct?"

"On some level, yes," Zevran confirmed, the same realization dawning on his face. "The queen is still in danger."

Maebh pulled on her robe. "You two, go to the docks and have the ship seized and all crew members arrested, on the order of the crown."

"Maebh, we cannot do such a thing without the proper authorization," protested Renaud. "Should you not ask the king first?"

"Renaud, do _not _start this argument right now," she barked at him as she strode toward the door. "Alistair will go along with it, I assure you. Now, so long as you are both satisfied that I am not about to drop dead of some extremely rare venom, I must go to my sister."

* * *

When Maebh arrived at the royal chambers, the rooms were packed with people. Servants, guards, healers, even a few clearly confused ball attendees. All swarmed about, babbling and stinking and creating chaos. She didn't recognize any of them.

"Everybody _out_!" she roared. "_Now__!_"

There was a moment of shocked silence, and Maebh became keenly aware of the fact that she was barefoot in her nightshift and robe, issuing orders to a great deal of people who had no reason to obey her. She held her chin high and clenched her teeth. "You heard me!"

"You heard the Commander," Loghain said from somewhere within the crowd. "Clear out, all of you."

Slowly the crush of people filed out. Maebh crossed her arms and glowered at them, trying to see if she could spy any more would-be assassins. Her countenance softened as Ghislaine approached her. "_Merci_, commander. Do not be afraid to send for me if you need something."

Maebh simply nodded. "See if you can find Renaud and Zevran. Tell them I got permission from the King to make the arrests. They'll know what I'm talking about."

"But you have not yet spoken-"

"Go, Ghislaine. That's an order."

"_Oui_, commander." Ghislaine replied formally. With that, she turned and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Finally the rooms were empty, save for her, Loghain, Alistair, and a dreadfully pale Anora, propped up on pillows on the bed. Alistair was kneeling next to her, eyes red, clutching on of her hands in both of his. Maebh's heart began to hurt remember how he had done the same for her only a year ago.

"Do I have to go, too?" Alistair asked, sounding uncertain and afraid.

"No, don't be absurd," she said, covering up her selfish feelings. "You can stay, too, Father." She closed the doors and prepared to bolt them. "If Nora wants you to, of course."

"He can stay," she said, her voice barely strong enough to whisper. "If he wants to. I don't mind."

Loghain settled in a chair by the fire as Maebh locked the door. "Why is your hair wet?" he asked her, sounding bone-weary.

"Zevran and Renaud gave me a bath." She told him.

Loghain arched an eyebrow at her and rubbed his chin. Alistair began to chuckle.

"What?" she said, feeling awkward.

"I'm sure there's some perfectly reasonable explanation for why such a thing had to happen at such a time," Loghain said in a perfectly even tone. Alistair snorted and began laughing harder. Even Anora giggled a little.

"As a matter of fact, there was," she replied haughtily. "They wanted to be sure I had not been stabbed."

"Oh, of course, silly me," Loghain deadpanned. "And I suppose simply _asking_ you was completely out of the question."

"There were... extenuating circumstances. I don't want to talk about it." She went to the bed, where Alistair and Anora were still laughing. "I talked to Zevran."

"Really? Before or after the bathing?" Alistair snickered.

"Stop it!" she said. "I'm being serious!" She stood next to the bed, toes curling on the cold stones. "He says he thinks it was a rival guild. That they killed the King and Queen of Antiva on the way over, and the entire crew of the ship was in on it. They wore disguises, and took the place of the court. He says this guild doesn't use poisons and prides themselves on precision strikes. But don't worry, I sent Renaud and Zev to go have the ship seized and the crew arrested."

Alistair freed one of his hands and stroked Anora's hair. "But then, why did they... the way they attacked you was..." He choked and swallowed. "There are more effective ways to kill a person than to aim for non-vital areas and hope for blood loss."

Maebh shifted her weight from one side to the other, bare feet burning with cold. She twisted her hands and didn't say anything. It wasn't her place.

"They weren't trying to kill me," Anora said. She turned to Maebh. "Stop fidgeting. If you're cold, you can lay next to me. There's plenty of room"

Maebh hopped up on the mattress, quickly squirmed under the coverlet and tried not to shiver too hard as she curled up next to her. Under the covers, Anora sought out her hand and grasped it fiercely.

Anora turned back to Alistair, seeming as calm as ever. "They were trying to kill our baby."

"But..." he let go of her hand and clutched his head. "I don't understand. You're not pregnant!"

"I am," she replied, as calm as ever, though Maebh could hear feel her pulse racing. "I just didn't tell you yet. Let me explain, please," she said, reaching out to touch him as he strangled a cry. "I've been pregnant before. Not... recently. But before, with Cailan and..." she swallowed. "And we were ultimately unsuccessful. I chose not to tell you because I did not wish to get your hopes up until it was certain the babe would live."

Alistair buried his face in the coverlet, breathing heavily, struggling to control his emotions. Maebh glanced over at Loghain, who sat, back rigid, face lined with care. Maebh wrapped her other arm around Anora's. How much they had both endured without the support of each other.

"But..." Alistair took a deep breath and lifted his head slowly. "Maebh and... that other mage."

"Ghislaine," Maebh corrected gently.

"Yes, that one." Alistair acknowledged her briefly. "They got to you so quickly. Did they... did you..."

Anora's face twitched, her perfect calm stretched to its breaking point. "I don't know."

Alistair clenched his fists, gripping the coverlet in a white-knuckled grasp. "So we'll just have to wait." He said resolutely.

"I could try to find out now," Maebh offered. "If that's acceptable."

Anora bit her lip and nodded, eyes brimming with tears. Maebh took a deep breath and gathered what little will had managed to accumulate since the battle. She disentangled one arm from Anora's and reached her hand over her sister's stomach. A soft blue light began to emanate from her fingertips as she reached her sight out slowly, tentatively, as delicately as she possibly could. A misstep now could cause far more problems than it solved. Maebh had never been much for the healing arts and if she barged in with her usual gusto she could finish what the assassins had started.

She trembled with the effort of holding herself back, progressing bit by bit, making sure not to reopen the wound or disturb any other organs until finally she found the other life. It was such a tiny thing, barely even noticeable unless one was specifically looking for it. But the spark was there, tiny and _tenacious_.

She was torn between two impulses, to stay and watch in amazement until the spark grew into a person and emerged into the world, and to yank back as quickly as possible lest she snuff it out entirely. But her better judgment prevailed, and she retreated just as slowly and gently as she had entered.

Maebh opened her eyes to see that Alistair had climbed into bed as well, holding Anora as if to shield her from any more attacks, and Loghain standing over the three of them. "She's alive," Maebh gasped, trembling from the effort. "The baby still lives. And... it's a girl. In case you were wondering."

Alistair sighed with relief and kissed Anora's forehead as she began to cry. Loghain nodded, lips pressed tight together. "You should get some rest," he told them.

"But what if-" Alistair protested.

Loghain shook his hand. "I'll keep watch outside the door."

Maebh began to push herself up, utterly exhausted. "I should go, too."

"No," Anora tightened her fingers around hers. "Please."

And so Maebh nestled against her sister's shoulder. "Fine. If you really want me to," she said.

She fell asleep before she could hear the response.

* * *

"I'm taking her with me," Maebh said as she jammed a pretty, if impractical, pair of gloves into her pack.

"But you can't!" Alistair moaned, slouching in his chair and flopping his head back. "She's my _favorite_!"

Maebh crossed her arms and glared at him. "I will invoke certain rights if you make me. And then how will you feel?"

Alistair frowned at his lap and started muttering things about his father. "Fine," he said finally, sullen.

"Excellent. Ghislaine," Maebh said to the other Warden. "Would you please go and inform Mhairi that we will be departing within the hour?"

"Of course, Commander," Ghislaine bowed and left.

"I should have known the way you were watching her at the Grand Melee," Alistair pouted.

"Yes, and then again when she helped me at the ball. The woman is a remarkable fighter. Once Father joins us at Amaranthine and begins training her, she will make an exceptional warrior." Maebh reached over the back of the chair and squeezed his shoulders. "And don't worry, Father says he'll only be staying for a week or so, until Anora's recovered. You'll be able to stand him for that long, right?"

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," Alistair smiled ruefully.

Maebh rolled her eyes. "Yes, heartless me. I am so cruel to you all."

He stood and hugged her tightly. "Thank you for saving her. And..." His voice cracked and he held her even tighter. "And my _daughter_." He said in a voice full of hushed awe. "I don't know how..."

Maebh wrapped her arms around his waist. "Don't think about it. It's better that way."

"I wish you didn't have to go," he said, heavy with regret. "What was it that Cailan wanted to do with you?"

Maebh's insides turned to stone. "Are you out of your mind?" She pulled away and resumed packing. "I told you we couldn't do that anymore."

"No, no!" he stumbled over his words, "Not... _that_. I meant the whole Warden or mage advisor-type thing. Can't we do something like that?" He went to her and took her hand. "I think it would be good for Anora to have you around, and the baby. She'll need her family!"

Maebh took a deep breath and looked directly at him, his eyes full of hope and longing. This is what he wanted, what he had always wanted. Not power, not wealth, not fame. Just a family to gather around him and call his own. She could understand. There still was a part of her that longed only for those things as well. "I can't do that, Alistair. That's not the life I'm meant to lead."

He nodded, crestfallen. "You'll come for her Name Day, though, won't you?"

Maebh laughed. "Hordes of Darkspawn couldn't keep me away!"

"Commander," Renaud entered through the still-open door, "We really must depart, the caravan is waiting."

"And go we shall," Maebh lifted her pack. "Let me linger any longer and I will succumb to His Majesty's charms."

"'Charms'," Alistair scoffed. "Clearly I have none or you would be staying."

Renaud shrugged and arched an eyebrow, lips quirking mischievously. "Or perhaps Commander simply has discovered she prefers charms that come from a bit more... foreign of a source?"

Maebh clapped a hand to her mouth and stifled a giggle. "I'm sure I don't know what he's talking about, Alistair."

He narrowed his eyes at the both of them. "Hm. Of course. Well, at least you have a sense of humor, after all." He went to leave, and at the threshold turned back. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Once Loghain gets there the festivities will be over."

* * *

Maebh felt a flutter of apprehension as she approached the caravan. She had finally recruited her first Warden since Loghain at the Landsmeet, but was at a loss of how to proceed with the woman. "Well, now that we're all here," she addressed the small group, "we should probably get going."

"Commander," Mhairi said as they walked their horses toward the palace gates, an edge of awkwardness in her own voice. "Please, allow me to thank you for recruiting me. It is an honor."

"Yes, well," Maebh fidgeted slightly. "You acquitted yourself quite well at both the tourney and the ball. I should tell you, Alistair kicked up quite a row when I told him."

Mhairi blushed. "His Majesty is very kind."

"And very possessive," Maebh grinned. "Don't worry, he'll get over it."

There was a bit of commotion behind them, shouts and footsteps coming from the balconies. Maebh turned to see Alistair waving furiously, and behind him Loghain and Anora lifting their hands and waving much more sedately. She was surprised at the pain in her heart. They really were going to miss her, after all. She smiled brightly and waved back.

A few more steps and they were out of sight of the balcony. The pain sharpened, and she blinked back tears.

"Is something wrong, Maebh," Renaud asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No, not really." How could she explain it? The cold and empty feeling she had carried for so long that it felt like a part of her had thawed and shifted and filled until the ache was something different entirely. Instead of loneliness, it was a pain of love. She reached out and took his hand. "I'm fine. Honestly." A thought occurred to her. "Amaranthine is more temperate than here, isn't it?"

"Yes, Commander," Mhairi confirmed. "The weather there is actually very mild because of the current."

Maebh smiled and lifted her face to the sun that broke through the clouds. "That sounds wonderful."


	20. Optimism Eternal

As every step brought her closer to Amaranthine, Maebh's anxiety and anticipation grew. Living in Soldier's Peak was merely a rehearsal for this new post, the main event. Not only would she have a much bigger force and a household to manage, she would also have to deal with whomever they had granted the Arling. At least for now, she could do what needed doing without Loghain's constant hovering.

Just when she was worried that maybe she was walking with a bit too much bounce in her step, she would glance over and catch Renaud's eye and feel utterly lost.

Something had changed between them in Denerim, but she wasn't sure what it meant or how to proceed. There was one thing she was sure of: the whole business was highly inappropriate. It was improper for a commanding officer to fraternize with subordinates. Besides that, Loghain would be returning at some point. While she knew he approved of how her relationship with Alistair had resolved, she also knew that all those gains would be obliterated in an instant if he ever suspected how close she and Renaud had become. She wasn't sure which way to go. Following her heart had never worked out very well, after all.

On the fourth day of their journey she stopped holding his hand. On the fifth she stopped walking next to him. By the time they arrived at Amaranthine, she had decided to let him know that she could not be intimate with him again.

* * *

Mhairi was so excited when they arrived at Vigil's Keep that she requested permission to run ahead to announce their arrival. Maebh led the party along the overgrown path to the Keep, with Renaud taking the rearguard. Ghislaine walked next to Maebh.

"Mhairi certainly is enthusiastic!" Ghislaine said, using her staff to push away an overhanging branch.

"I'm still counting my blessings that I was able to convince Alistair to part with her." Maebh smiled. "He can be so stubborn sometimes."

Ghislaine laughed. "You say that as if there is any Fereldan who could not be described as 'stubborn'. Why shouldn't your king be the most obstinate of them all?"

"I wouldn't go that far. There are many who are more bull-necked than he," Maebh smiled ruefully.

"It must be an extra blessing Andraste grants you as infants," Ghislaine giggled. "Because She knows as well as I how you possess the trait in spades."

"Me?" Maebh asked, surprised. "Surely you jest. I'm constantly bowing and bending to somebody else's whims."

Ghislaine was quiet for a long time. "Of course, Commander."

"Did you have a point?" Maebh demanded, irritable. "Or was this just another round of 'Oh, you quaint little Fereldans'. Because I grow tired of that game."

Ghislaine rolled her eyes. "It also appears to be a national trait to disdain subtlety," she sighed. "I was merely wondering. When we were in Denerim you seemed to quite enjoy the company of our brother warden, but now you spurn him. Has something changed?"

"No," Maebh said, squaring her shoulders. "And I must say, Warden, that this conversation is rather inappropriate, all things considered."

Ghislaine was quiet again, looking at Maebh skeptically out of the corner of her eye. "But of course, Commander."

Before she had a chance to continue, Mhairi returned, crashing through the underbrush. "Commander!" she shouted, breathless. "Come quickly! The Keep!"

"Mhairi, calm yourself," Maebh tried to soothe her and handed her a skin of water. "Is something wrong at Vigil's Keep?"

She bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees and struggling to catch her breath. "Yes," she nodded. "They are under attack."

"By whom," Renaud asked, joining them. "Howe loyalists?"

Mhairi shook her head. "No. Darkspawn!"

* * *

It was worse than she expected. She tore through the waves of darkspawn as quickly as she could, desperately hoping that maybe if she was just fast enough she could save some of them. The bodies of Avice and Quennel were outside the main gate, splintered wooden practice weapons clutched in their fists.

There were a handful of servants who had the presence of mind to hide away in closets that she was able to lead to safety. In the hall she found the bodies of Marcel and Jacques.

Ghislaine had to take a moment after that, turning away and pressing her hands against her face. Maebh went to her, and placed her hands on her shoulders. "This is part of our burden," she said gently. "Any of us can die at any time."

Ghislaine turned a tearstained face to her. "But so many, all at once! Commander, is this what it was like for you at Ostagar?"

Maebh stopped and thought about that day. The stench of fear and blood and smoke. The desperate scramble to get to the top of the tower to let Cailan know that somebody was coming for him, that he wasn't going to die. The way her world was destroyed when she found out that she had failed, that her father had failed, that they all had failed and she didn't know where to go or whom to trust or what to do. Cailan's body on the cold ground.

"Yes, it was something like this," she said, not willing to think about it anymore.

* * *

There almost certainly had to be an excellent, or at least entertaining, reason to have discovered Oghren in the kitchen. But in the swirl of battle and the rush to try to rescue some of their comrades Maebh didn't have the time to ask. She was merely grateful to have an old friend at her side, one whom she had fought with enough to predict his strikes enough to coordinate. Falling into step next to Oghren was like swimming with the current, as effortless as breathing.

She got overconfident as they were heading back up the stairs across the main entry and let down her guard when he was unable to cover for her, and was stuck with an arrow directly in her bad shoulder. Cursing, she tumbled down the stairs as Renaud and Oghren rushed ahead and Ghislaine stayed behind to heal her as best she could. It wasn't long before she heard raised voices and Oghren's low tone cracking jokes. "What in the Maker's name," Maebh muttered, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling through the door.

She was met with a sight that turned her stomach. Dead templars. Again. A wave of nausea nearly choked her as memories of Uldred's uprising leapt, unbidden, into her mind.

She stopped and crouched, leaning her head between her knees and breathing deeply. Sooner or later, the dizziness would pass and she could think clearly again.

"It wasn't me," a voice somehow both comfortingly and terrifyingly familiar attempted to assure her.

"What?" she responded flatly, choking back another wave of nausea.

"I mean, I won't say that I'm _sorry_. Or that I couldn't have maybe done a little more, but you know how they get about magic and Andraste's toenail fungus, _M__aebh Amell_? Is that you?"

She glared up at him.

"So it is!" he laughed with delight. "Where did you get that armor? It really doesn't suit you. Makes you look all... Templar-y."

She pushed herself to her feet. "It's Warden Commander armor. Because that's what I am." She straightened her shoulders and at the shooting pain, still not entirely sure that yet another ghost of her years in the Tower had managed to reappear.

"So you are," he smiled a half-smile and her heart thudded so hard she was sure he could hear it banging against the breastplate. "Well, isn't _that _interesting."

"You know this man?" Renaud demanded, furious. "He murdered them! All these men!"

"Yes, I know him," Maebh said feeling like she was in a waking dream. Or nightmare. "His name is Anders and-"

"I did no such thing!" Anders interrupted in protest. "It was the darkspawn. I mean, sure, I probably could have helped more than I did... but you know, after all these years I just don't feel the esprit de corps anymore."

"We should clap him in chains and send him back to the Tower as soon as possible," Renaud said, furious.

"Well, that seems a bit hasty," Anders pressed a hand to his heart.

"Your negligence led to the deaths of not only these men but my comrades as well," Renaud growled, pointed a dagger at Anders' throat. "I should kill you where you stand."

Unthinking, Maebh raised her arm to stop him and cried out at the sudden pain. "No, Renaud. Please, control yourself we may still be able to save some yet."

"Are you hurt?" Anders said quickly, all pretense at humor dropped. "I can help."

"I already did what could be done at this moment," Ghislaine said haughtily.

Maebh waved her off. "Ghislaine, you are quite capable of blowing things up but not much for healing. Don't be offended, the same goes for me." She turned back to Anders. "I've heard that you were somewhat talented in that area. If you could just dull the pain enough for the rest of the battle that would suffice."

Anders went to her and examined her injury. "I can't tell exactly what is going on here, with the swelling and the bleeding, but..." and his eyes went far away as the healing blue light spread over her wounded joint. "But I can patch you up Your High Commanderness enough to keep going for the next few hours. After that I must insist that you let me tend to this if you don't want to be permanently crippled."

"Whatever you say," Maebh rolled her eyes.

"I'm actually serious about this, you know," he grumbled.

"Let's get going, we've dawdled enough," she said, shrugging off his concern. And Anders fell into line with the rest, brushing off Renaud's glares and winking at Ghislaine.

* * *

In the end, the only one they were able to save was the seneschal, and even that had come almost too late. After the talking darkspawn was dead and all that was left was to clear the bodies, Maebh stormed upstairs.

She didn't know which door led to her room. Unwilling to ask and risk appearing foolish, she simply went from room to room until she found one that was larger and more ostentatiously furnished than the others. She wasn't sure if it was the master bedroom, but it was good enough.

"I want a bath!" she called down the hall at the servants cautiously peeping around corners. "Don't worry about heating the water, I'll see to that," she added before ducking into the room.

She had managed to wrestle the majority of her armor off before she realized she had no idea where her bags had ended up. So, clad in her boots and underpadding, she began rifling through the drawers of whatever Howe had formerly occupied the place. Eventually she found a gown that looked like it might be long enough and wasn't too ornate. "Better than nothing," she muttered to herself as the servants finished filling the bath.

A few moments of heat spells later and it was warm enough to use. Not willing to wait any longer, she finished stripping, got in the tub, and began scrubbing off the black darkspawn blood.

It was more pleasurable than she anticipated, not having to look for a stream or a pond to cleanse herself of the vile muck that coated every inch of her after such an encounter. Simply knowing that she would not be reeking and sticky the rest of the day overjoyed her so much, she found herself giggling in spite of the carnage that had befallen her fellow wardens.

She was ducking her head under the water to rinse the suds from her hair when she thought she heard the door open and somebody walk in. "This room's claimed already," she declared loudly after popping back above water and crossing her arms over her breasts.

"You don't want to share?" Anders drawled, swaggering into the bath area. "Such a shame. I had hoped that you still pined for me in your girlish heart, but fate is always so cruel to we mages."

"What do you think you're doing?" Maebh sputtered, pushing herself to the far side of the tub. "Get out."

"But we have so much to..." he paused and smirked at her, "discuss."

"Andraste as my witness, Anders," she grit out between clenched teeth, "I will deliver you to the Tower myself."

"Please," he stopped and held his arms out, "just hear me out."

"Fine," she sighed, slumping back and reaching for the soap again. "Say what you mean to."

He sat on the edge of the tub, drifting his fingers in the water. "Do you remember the last time we were together in the Tower?"

She scrubbed her scalp, getting every flake of dried blood out. "We were never _together, _Anders. I had a stupid crush on you. And you were more interested in redheads at the time, if I recall correctly."

"Still," he shrugged and that half-smile returned. "Perhaps I've learned to broaden my horizons."

"I cannot believe you're trying to seduce me right now." She rinsed her hair with a pitcher of water. "Renaud is already chomping at the bit to run you through. You should get out of here before he comes looking for me."

"Oh-ho!" He grinned and moved to the side of the tub she had leaned against, taking the pitcher from her and trailing his hand along the top of her exposed shoulders. "An illicit affair? If I didn't know better I'd think you were _trying _to make this more exciting."

"You're making yourself ridiculous," Maebh sighed and tried to ignore the apprentice-crush flutters in her stomach.

"It's a risk I am willing to take, if that's what I need to-" he stopped suddenly. "Oh, for the love of—Who's been healing this shoulder? It's a disaster!"

"I don't know, I injured it..." she trailed off, trying to remember when it was that she had first hurt it. "In the Brecilian forest?" The arm had been wrenched out of its socket by a werewolf. Wynne had done what she could, but she said there was more to be done than she had time or materials while they were in the field. She had made Maebh promise to get it completely restructured after they had defeated the Blight. But that was over two years ago. "It hasn't been a problem," she frowned.

"And people call me a liar. Such is the benefits of herodom, I suppose." He shook his head. "There is no way in Thedas this thing has been anything but agony for you. Well, that settles it," he said as he got up. "You simply can't send me back to the Tower until I finish healing it."

"Is that so?" she arched an eyebrow. "And who said you get to make that decision?"

"The fact that you won't be able to pull this gown over your head without assistance, perhaps? Not that I'd withhold such assistance, mind," he said, bringing her foraged clothing. "Planning your Satinalia costume early, I see." He stopped and looked at her. "This is a costume, correct? I can't think of any other reason a person would willingly wear such a hideous shade of orange."."

"I found it," she said through clenched teeth. "I don't know where my bags are." She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself as she was getting up and climbed out of the bath.

"Andraste's Antivan piercings, woman!" he sputtered. "What have you done to your leg?"

"I got shot up with arrows at the Temple of Andraste's Sacred Ashes." She absent-mindedly rubbed the back of her foot against the scars. "It never healed right."

"And your hip?" he pressed, holding her gown up so she could pull it on.

"Oh, that. That was the Archdemon," she said nonchalantly as he laced up the ties on the back.

"My dear, I do believe you have many reasons to keep me around for much longer than we thought," he said lightly.

She was about to protest at his presumption when the door opened and Renaud came in. His expression went from one of concern, to confusion, to sullen anger. "We have visitors, Commander," he said flatly. "They request an audience."

"Already?" Maebh asked, tying her hair with a leather strap. "What could they want?"

He shrugged. "They are flying the royal banners and await you in the courtyard," he said, voice clipped, before turning on his heel and walking out.

* * *

Maebh walked quickly down the hall, fists clenched. "Without so much as a hint of warning," she fumed to Anders. "If the court wishes to see me barefoot and wet-headed and in a pilfered gown then I hope they're happy! Because that's what they're going to get!"

"I doubt they'd recognize you otherwise," Anders quipped as she flung open the door.

"Here I am," she announced, approaching the party. "What do you want?"

The retinue of royal guards in blindingly shiny armor gasped and muttered at her impertinence, but she was far past the point of caring. Alistair emerged from the center of the entourage, sporting a wide grin. "Ah, Commander of the Grey! How are you finding your new accommodations?"

She planted her hands on her hips, frustration rapidly boiling over. "What in the Fade are you doing here? I just left Denerim a week ago. What could you possibly have to say to me?"

He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. The guards fixed her with stony stares but she steadfastly ignored them. "Well," he said, "there's been some changes. About the Arling."

"And you had to come all the way here to tell me about which Bann you've decided to elevate? I couldn't find out on my own soon enough? Alistair," she sighed and rubbed her temples. "It's not safe here. You shouldn't have come."

"I didn't know that when we decided to come. Anyway," he motioned to one of the guards and they produced an ornately carved wooden box. "After much consideration, Queen Anora and I have decided to grant the Arling to you."

The guard opened the box and presented her with a ring bearing the seal of Amaranthine and a banner with the coat of arms.

She stared at it, then at him. "You must be joking." She turned to Anders. "This isn't happening."

"I'm serious about this," Alistair pouted slightly. "We gave it a lot of thought. That's why I came to tell you personally, because Anora said if we sent you a letter you'd just pretend like you never received it."

"That's ridiculous, I would never-" she stopped herself when she realized he was right, and decided to change tactics. "I suppose this has nothing to do with Loghain's extended stay in Denerim?"

Alistair paled slightly. "Are you sure it is quite unsafe? I was planning on staying here for a few days. Or months, maybe."

"No," she said firmly, closing the box. "I have no idea how the darkspawn invaded in the first place, and besides that you should be with your wife." She handed the box back to him. "You can take this with you and give it to somebody more appropriate."

"There is nobody more appropriate," he insisted, pushing it back.

"You are even more foolish than your brother if you truly believe that." She pushed it back at him.

Anders laughed. "Just take it before they remember that you're an M-A-G-E," he stage-whispered.

"Your Majesty!" A particularly intense-looking Templar interrupted as she pushed her way to the front of the guard. "You must arrest this man. He is a dangerous criminal."

"I agree," said Renaud, emerging from the stables. "He is a murderer."

Anders sighed. "I thought we've been over this. I didn't kill any of them. I would hope that a Warden would know how to recognize darkspawn bites at this point." He shrugged. "But you know me. I'm an eternal optimist."

"You mean the mage," Alistair asked the Templar. "He doesn't look so scary..."

"He is an apostate who is wanted by the Tower. I must insist he be handed over to my custody," she said firmly.

"No," Maebh blurted. "You can't." Not the Tower. Anders could barely stand to stay there when the place was alive, and now it had become a tomb. She couldn't condemn him to that.

"Arlessa, Warden-Commander, Hero, whatever other titles you manage to ensnare," snarled the Templar, "Your authority still stops somewhere below that of the Grand Cleric's, _mage_."

Maebh clenched her teeth and glared right back at the woman. "I'm afraid you are mistaken." She squared her shoulders. "Because I'm invoking the Right of Conscription."

"Maebh, you cannot mean this," protested Renaud. "Who is this person that you are willing to ignore how he _killed_ our comrades!"

"Don't be absurd," she scoffed. "And I do mean it. Anders, you're going to be a Warden."

"Don't I have some say in this?" he asked.

"You don't like it, you get to go back with her," she exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated. "This is your chance, take it or leave it!"

He stroked his chin a moment. "You present a solid case," he conceded. "Very well, darkspawn roasting it is!"

"Of all the impertinence!" gasped the Templar. "You must stop her, Your Majesty."

"I'm afraid I can't," Alistair shrugged. "It's out of my jurisdiction as well. Maebh, I hope you know what you're doing."

_That makes two of us_, she thought to herself. "If there's nothing else, I must insist that you go. Now," she said, ushering him to the gate. "I'll let you know when the Keep is secure. Maybe then my father will wish to rejoin us."

Alistair blanched again. "Are you sure I can't stay?"

"Positive." She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the glares of the guard. "Travel safe, Brother."

"Keep your wits about you, Sister," he said, pecking her on the cheek. "I don't know if all of your new allies are as trustworthy as you'd like to believe." He murmured before turning to go.

She hugged herself as she watched him go, hoping he was wrong.

* * *

She was trying to find her bags when Renaud caught up with her. "I would speak with you, Commander," he said, looking down his nose at her.

"So? Speak," she said, rubbing her still-sore shoulder.

"Privately," he said, glancing around.

Servants and guards were still scurrying in the aftermath of the invasion, "I don't know where..." The ancient keep jutted and sprawled and doubled-back on itself in a tangled web of hallways and stairwells and rooms accessible only through other rooms and she was sure that she would never find a place where curious ears couldn't listen in, if they so desired. "Where is private, here?"

Renaud grabbed her arm and pulled her into a closet. "This will suffice," he said, shutting the door and plunging them into darkness.

The confined space and the thick stone wall and solid wooden door made the space oppressively intimate. "What's on your mind?"

She could hear him fidget, his breathing heavy. It made her think of the night of the ball, of promises their bodies made that had gone unfulfilled. She steeled her nerves, and tried not to breathe in the scent of leather and spice that always seemed to follow him. "Your behavior has been most erratic," he accused.

She barked a laugh, and she could hear him freeze. "I've heard that one before. I must say, my behavior lately has been quite rational. Relatively speaking." Relative to Ostagar, and Lothering, and Orzammar, and the Circle Tower...

"You are mad if you think recruiting that apostate is a good idea," he fumed, interrupting her thoughts.

"Anders is a good man," she insisted. "He doesn't deserve whatever fate the Tower had in store for him. And furthermore, he's an excellent healer. In case you haven't noticed, neither Ghislaine nor I are particularly skilled in that area. We _need _somebody like him."

"But," Renaud protested, "he could have-"

"No!" she declared. "They had bound him in shackles. There was nothing he could have done until he was able to get a key off of one of them. He's going to be your Brother so you better get over this. And fast."

"How can you be so cold!" he burst in frustration. "So many of your Brothers and Sisters were killed here and you just go on as if nothing has happened?"

She sighed and felt her way to a shelf she could perch on, feeling weary. "The day before my Joining, there were nearly thirty Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Did you know that? All my countrymen." She tried to remember their names, their faces. All but Duncan remained a blur of beard and steel and loud laughter and jokes she didn't understand. "The day after my Joining there were two. Myself, and Alistair. Beyond that, nearly a third of the king's army were lost, including King Cailan himself. A man," she quavered, and pressed on. "A man I loved very much. I just cannot allow myself to feel it the same way. I'll go mad. I'm sorry that this upsets you."

She heard his footsteps, and he stopped right in front of her. She could feel the heat of his body. "Is that why you have spurned me?" he said softly, and she felt his hands brushing against her arms, feather-light.

She bit her lip. "I can't," she said, barely a whisper. "I can't do it again."

"Don't turn me away, please," he begged, pulling the tie out of her hair and running his fingers through it. "I cannot promise that no harm will come to us. But I can promise that I will do everything I can to make whatever time we have together worth the effort."

"But I'll fall in love with you." She felt helpless, drowning as he tore down her defenses and left her in the flood she had so carefully sealed away.

He embraced her, and held her tightly. She felt his heart beating through his chest and felt as he struggled with his own feelings of helplessness. "Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow."

She grasped his shirt in both hands and pulled until his face was level with hers. "This is wrong."

"You know that's not true," he replied.

"I'm your superior," she said.

"Rank has never stopped me before." Even in the darkness she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm an arlessa," she continued, "They'll make me marry."

"Marriage has never stopped you before," he said ruefully.

She paused, the one objection she was too ashamed to say caught in her mouth.

"My father will never approve."

"I don't care," he growled low, and proceeded to kiss her deeply.

She broke away. "You might die," she whispered in his ear, as if saying it any louder would make it more likely to come true.

He paused, held her face in his hands and pressed his forehead against hers. "Such is our fate. But I swear that so long as I draw breath I will be with you. If you will have me."

She melted against him, wrapping her legs around his waist and threading her fingers into his hair. He began unlacing the ties at the back of her gown. Impatient, she tried to shrug out of it and tore the bodice. He laughed quietly. "Still _sans patience, mon belle dame_."

"I don't care," she replied, tossing her head haughtily. "It's not my dress anyway."

His hands danced over her body in the darkness until they found the rip in the fabric. He paused, laughed again, and tore the dress completely in half.

She shivered in the sudden cold, as underneath she was completely naked. "_Mon __créateur_!" he exclaimed. "You... the entire time we were out in the courtyard? With the king?"

She giggled in spite of herself. "I wasn't expecting company!"

"You are a dangerous woman," he nibbled at her collarbone, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him.

She could feel him hardening against her, just his own clothing in between them. She began to pull at the ties of his trousers, but stopped when a terrible thought occurred to her. "The door! There's no lock!" He broke away from her and she tried to think clearly. Willing a bit of blue light at her fingers, she looked around the room. "There," she pointed. "That armor stand, there's a battle axe."

Renaud grabbed it and stuck it through the door handle, before turning it at an angle so that it could not be pulled open. He tested it just to be sure. "I think we have our privacy, now," he turned and grinned.

She took a moment just to memorize him, hair tousled, shirt rumbled, trousers slung low on his hips. "Good," was all she could say.

He returned to her and she helped him out of his clothes. "I don't know how long I can keep the light," she sighed as he began to trail kisses from her neck to her breast.

"Are you tired?" he asked, lips brushing against a nipple.

"No it's just... hard to concentrate," she struggled to say as his hand trailed from her hip to between her legs.

It became a game. She tried to keep the light as long as she could and he tried to distract her. At first with delicate touches and kisses, whispered endearments, lips barely touching skin in a sensation that made her skin tingle and her body yearn for more. She retaliated by burning the light brighter as she ran her hands over his shoulders, arms and back, feeling the firm muscle stretch and roll under smooth skin.

He redoubled his efforts, and kissed the tender skin behind her ear as he slipped his fingers into her, stroking her so lightly she was sure she would climax if he gave her just a _little_ bit more.

She reached between his legs and trailed a finger along his length. Which, she soon discovered, was quite a bit longer than she anticipated. The light flickered and she could feel him grin against her skin. "So that's distracting, eh?"

She wrapped her fingers around him and pressed him against her. "Not quite distracting enough, yet," she purred before relaxing her hold and guiding him into her. The light faded as he filled her, and she felt a rush of intimacy as they were plunged into darkness. She slid her legs up around his hips, feeling the faint sheen of perspiration on his skin as he grabbed her bottom with both hands and thrust deep into her. She moaned as he began to move within her, filling her more than she had thought possible, touching her in places she didn't know had wanted to be touched.

The light at her fingertips returned, unbidden, as her pleasure increased. The color changed from blue to purple sensations shifted, became more intense. Whether Renaud took this as a sign of encouragement or displeasure she was not sure, but it spurred him on to greater efforts.

The light changed from purple shimmers to blazing red as she reached her peak and cried out. Unable to hold back any longer, he buried himself within her and moaned low, trembling with his own release.

They remained there for a moment, together in the fading light as her will dissipated. He pulled away from her and kissed her forehead. "I will go find something you can put on," he said. "I apologize for my earlier impetuous behavior."

She laughed lightly. "No, it was quite alright. I didn't like the thing anyway."

He kissed her again. Then once more before getting dressed. And again before leaving. She returned the battleax to the suit of armor, wrapping the remains of the dress around herself.

"We can't do that again," she said to the empty room. "I mean it."


End file.
